


Strange New World

by Malarkay



Category: American Horror Story, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caning, Character Death, Crossover, Demonic Possession, Explicit Language, Gen, Homophobia, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Mutilation, Period-Typical Racism, Slut Shaming, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malarkay/pseuds/Malarkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rumpelstiltskin follows Baelfire to a land without magic, he discovers that this new world is not as mundane as he had imagined. When he is separated from his son and imprisoned in a place devoid of all hope, he learns that you don't have to be under a curse to be deprived of a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Rumpelstiltskin followed as Baelfire led him deeper into the forest. Excitement and hope radiated off the boy, the very air rang with the power of it. It set his teeth on edge and made his stomach twist itself into knots. The Dark One yearned to lash out, to smother the light with His darkness, to laugh as He watched it flicker and die.

But this was his son. His son! Rumpelstiltskin would not, could not, disappoint him.  And so he spoke, his voice cutting through the thickness between them, drowning out the dark thoughts, "What kind of world is this we're going to? What kind of world is without magic?"

Baelfire turned to him, his face determined. "A better one."

He stared at his son for a long moment. He knew he was doing a poor job of keeping his doubts from showing, but Bae seemed unconcerned with his hesitation. He trusted him to keep his word. Turning, Bae tossed the bean onto the ground.

Before his eyes, the bean transformed, growing into a swirling green vortex. It grasped at his ankles, promising to unmake him, to pull him into the ground and leave him buried so deep that there would be no way out. He took several hasty steps backward. He knew this was a plot to get rid of him! Fairies were never to be trusted!

"It's a trick! It'll tear us apart!" he yelled over the wind, trying to get Bae to see reason.

"It's not! It'll be okay, I promise! We have to go through!"

"No, no, I don't think I can!"

Did Bae truly not understand? Did he trust the Blue Fairy so much that he could not recognize his own demise when it was staring him in the face? Baelfire grabbed his hand and leapt for the portal, oblivious to the danger.

Rumpelstiltskin clutched his hand tighter, bracing himself to keep them from falling through. Despite his best efforts, he lost his footing as Bae’s weight dragged him forward.  Desperately fumbling for his dagger, he managed to plunge it deep into the ground, stopping their inexorable slide towards the portal.  But Bae was too close to the edge.  Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t going to be able to hold on to him much longer.

"Papa, what are you doing? It won't stay open long! Let's go!"

"I can't!"

"Papa, it's the only way we can be together!"

"No, I can't!"

Suddenly, Bae's confusion turned to anger. He screamed at him, his voice breaking in his rage, "You coward! You promised! Don’t break our deal!" Bae began to struggle against his grasp. For one brief, sickening moment, he considered letting Bae go. He could at least save himself.

No!

No, whatever fate awaited his boy, he couldn't leave him to face it alone. Closing his eyes, he let go of the dagger, and they tumbled through the portal, together.

..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Awareness came back to Rumpelstiltskin slowly. There was a dull throbbing in his head, an ache in his leg that he had grown used to living without, and he felt drained. Powerless.

Distantly, he could make out words. Someone was speaking. Slowly, he sat up and opened his eyes. He instantly regretted his decision when a light, brighter than any lamp or candle he had ever seen, shined into his eyes. He shrank back, shielding his face from the glare.

"Easy there," came the voice again.

"Bae?"

"The kid? He's fine."

He opened his eyes again, cautiously. It was still dark out, except for the bright white light that illuminated the patch of road where he was sitting. He squinted over towards the source, which appeared to be twin lamps mounted onto some sort of...giant box? On top of the box, more lights flashed, a dizzying combination of red and blue. He looked away from them, and towards the man who crouched beside him. He was wearing some sort of uniform, a fact Rumpelstiltskin did not find particularly comforting.

"Where is this?"

The uniformed man frowned. "Not far outside of Leeds."

Rumpelstiltskin's incomprehension must have shown, because the man continued, "Hampshire County? Massachusetts? Where you from, buddy? Scotland?"

"The Frontlands."

The man was quiet for a moment, before standing and rubbing his forehead.  "Christ," he muttered. "You gotta be kidding me...." He glanced across the road, and Rumpelstiltskin followed his gaze to where another uniformed man stood talking with Bae. Bae was seated on top of another light box, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. "Hey, Walsh, you getting anything useful out of the kid?"

"He says his name is Baelfire," the other man, Walsh, yelled back. "Your guy's his father."

The man looked back down at him. "You got a name?"

"Rumpelstiltskin."

The man snorted. "Got a first name?"

"That's the only name I have."

"Huh, never heard anything like it."

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. It wasn't a very common name in his world, either.

"So, what's with the Halloween costume? A little early for that, don’t you think?"

Rumpelstiltskin could only give him a puzzled look. He felt it was better that he didn't say too much, at this point. It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that fitting into this world would not be as simple as he had hoped.  The man just shook his head wearily at his silence.

"Hey, Harrison, you should get a load of this kid's story!" Walsh called over, laughter evident in his voice. "Says a fairy gave him a magic bean that opened a portal between their world and ours, and that's how they got here!"

Rumpelstiltskin winced.

' _Oh, Bae, why'd you tell him that?'_

Harrison grinned. "He didn't trade the family cow for it, did he?"

Rumpelstiltskin frowned. He was used to enduring people’s derision. He was not so tolerant of them mocking his boy. "Don't you dare laugh at him," he warned. He may not have his powers, here, but that didn't mean he had to swallow his pride and put up with bullies. Not anymore.

Harrison's grin disappeared. "You don't buy this fairy bullshit, do you?"

"My son is not a liar."

"Christ," Harrison said, again. Rumpelstiltskin could only assume that was some sort of expletive people used, here. He would have to store that away for future use. Anything that helped him seem as if he belonged here was useful.

Harrison beckoned Walsh over. "These two are certifiable. I'm not dealing with this craziness, tonight."

"So, what? We let them go?"

Harrison frowned thoughtfully. "Yes.  No.  I dunno. They're nuts. We let 'em go, and they wander off and hurt someone? That's our asses."

"So what do you wanna do?"

"How do you feel about driving the kid to Stetson School, tonight?"

"Aww, man, are you serious? That's over an hour away!"

"Yeah, I'm serious. Or would you rather take this one to..."

"No! No, I'm not going there at night. That place creeps me out."

Harrison laughed. "Coward. Stetson, then?"

"Yeah, fine." Walsh started walking back to Bae. "C'mon, kid, I'm gonna take you to some people who can help you."

"No!"

The realization that these men intended to take Bae away from him propelled him into action. Grabbing Harrison by the front of the shirt, he used him to haul himself to his feet and launch himself at Walsh. The other man had only taken a few steps, leaving him close enough that his momentum allowed him to tackle him from behind before his leg gave out. He wasn't sure who was more surprised by his success, himself or Walsh. But his victory was short lived as Harrison grabbed him by his collar and hauled him off of the man.

He fell onto his back, raising a hand in surrender as Harrison drew the club he had holstered on his belt. "Please, you can't take my boy," he said, scrambling back as Harrison raised the club.

Bae came running over, but was restrained by Walsh, who had quickly regained his feet.  "Papa! Don't hurt him!"

But the time for words was over.

The club came down. There was an explosion of pain, and his vision grew fuzzy.  He was vaguely aware of the club coming at him a second time, and then....


	2. Welcome to Briarcliff

_“It’s alright.  Let me help you.”_

_Rumpelstiltskin looked up into Zoso’s face, the Dark One’s face.  He was no longer fooled by the glamour of humanity, or by the seemingly helping hand he offered._

_He shook his head.  “You lied to me.”_

_“I helped you.”_

_“You tricked me!”_

_“You need me,” the Dark One insisted.  “You are nothing without me.”_

_“You’re wrong.  Bae believes in me.  In me!  Not you!”_

_“What do_ you _believe?”_

_Rumpelstiltskin had no answer for him._

_The Dark One smirked, amused.  “That’s what I thought.  Get up.”_

_He shook his head again._

_“You don’t have a choice.  Get up!”  The Dark One grabbed his arm, hauling him up._

Rumpelstiltskin jerked awake as rough hands dragged him upright.  “Get up!” Harrison ordered, all hint of friendliness gone from his voice. 

His head swam as he looked around, confused and disoriented.  He wasn’t in the same place.  Where before there had been nothing but trees and empty road, now a building loomed before him, a dark shadow against the night sky, large and imposing.

Harrison slammed the door of the light box, and Rumpelstiltskin realized for the first time that it must be this world’s version of a carriage.  He didn’t have time to contemplate how such a thing could work without the aid of horses or magic before Harrison spoke again, “Move!”

He was propelled forward.  Dizzy, his hands shackled behind his back, Harrison’s hold on his arm was the only thing that kept him on his feet as they ascended the front steps.

Harrison rapped sharply on the door.  Despite the late hour, the door swung open, revealing a man who looked to be roughly the same age as Rumpelstiltskin.  He, too, wore a uniform, though it was different from Harrison’s. 

“Hey, Frank, got another one for ya.”

Frank eyed Rumpelstiltskin, sizing him up before stepping aside.  He stumbled as Harrison pushed him across the threshold, falling to his knees.

“He doesn’t look good.  What’s the story with him?” Frank asked.

“Found him and his son in the middle of the highway.  When they were asked how they got there, they both seemed to believe some bullshit story about magic beans and fairies, so I figured they needed some psychiatric help.  When we went to separate them, our guy here got violent and had to be subdued.”

Together, they hauled him back up, supporting him between them.  “Well, he can barely stand.  He’ll need to get checked out.  Help me take him to Dr. Arden,” Frank said.

Rumpelstiltskin kept his head down and his mouth shut as they walked.  He knew it was of no use to try and talk to Harrison, and Frank seemed to be of his ilk.  He’d get nowhere with either of these men.  He hoped that this Dr. Arden would be more sympathetic to his situation.  If he could convince him that he wasn’t insane, they would let him go, and he could find Bae.

They stepped into a room, and Rumpelstiltskin finally looked up.  The room was dimly lit, like the rest of the building had been.  The walls were grey brick, reminiscent of the Duke’s castle.  Moonlight shone into the room from three arched windows along one wall, illuminating a desk.  Behind the desk sat the man Rumpelstiltskin assumed was Dr. Arden.  He was an older man, bald, with a mustache and a short white beard that left all but his chin bare.  Rumpelstiltskin found that if he tried to focus on him for too long, there seemed to be two of him.  He squeezed his eyes shut for a few long seconds, trying unsuccessfully to will away the persistent dizziness.

It took a minute for Arden to acknowledge them.  He took his time as he finished jotting down whatever thoughts they were interrupting in a small notebook he had laid out in front of him.  Finally, he looked up, and his eyes ran over each of them in turn before settling expectantly on Frank.

“I know it’s late, Doctor, but since you haven’t gone home, yet, could you examine a new patient?  He might have a concussion,” Frank said.

“And we’re going to need a diagnosis for him, before his commitment hearing.  I’ll get the paperwork started and bring it by in a few days,” Harrison added. 

Arden stood and walked around his desk, coming to a stop right in front of him.  A good deal shorter than the other man, Rumpelstiltskin had to tilt his head back to look him in the eye.  Arden fished a small metal cylinder out of the pocket of his long white coat and, with a soft click, a bright pinprick of light began to glow from one end.  Rumpelstiltskin looked away as the other man attempted to shine the light into his eyes.  Arden gripped his chin and forced his head back up.  He shined the light back and forth from one eye to the other, watching carefully.  What, exactly, he was looking for, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t say. 

Arden put the light away and held up a finger.  “Keep your head still and follow the movement of my finger with your eyes.”  He began to move his finger back and forth, up and down, and Rumpelstiltskin did as he was told.  At the same time, Arden began to question him.

“Do you have a headache?”

“Yes.”

“Dizziness?”

“Yes.”

“Nausea?”

“No.”

Arden nodded and took a step back.  “I’ll keep him here for observation, and to run some more tests.  Take him to my lab, strip him, and strap him to the examination table.”

“No, please,” Rumpelstiltskin protested.  “I can’t stay here.”

They ignored him as they ushered him through an arched doorway that led to the lab.  It was a claustrophobic, octagonal room dominated by the aforementioned examination table.  White cupboards and curio cabinets lined the walls, making the space feel even smaller.  As Arden followed them, he flipped a switch on the wall, causing the strange lamp that hung above the table to flicker on. 

Harrison uncuffed his hands and divested him of his heavy, robe-like overcoat.  Rumpelstiltskin was happy to be free of the cumbersome thing.  He’d have a better chance of staving them off in shirtsleeves.  When Frank reached for him, he jerked away.  “No!” he repeated himself, more forcefully this time, as he limped backwards, away from the two uniformed men.  “I don’t belong here,” he said, addressing Arden.  “My son needs me.  I’m all he has.”

Arden’s face remained coolly unsympathetic.  “Unfortunately for you and your son, it is not up to the patients to decide whether they belong here or not.”  Striding up to Rumpelstiltskin, he shoved him back into the waiting arms of the other two. 

He struggled against them as they stripped off his shirt and dragged him towards the table.  He managed to free his arm from Harrison’s grip and lashed out, dealing the man a glancing blow to the face.  Harrison responded with a sharp kick to his right leg that dropped him immediately, giving the two men the opening they needed to haul him up and onto the table, where they made short work of the task of securing his wrists. 

Being ignored, manhandled, and restrained was too much.  This was not the way coming to this new land was supposed to go!  They _had_ been tricked!  That conniving fairy had shamelessly used his son against him!  He redoubled his efforts against his captors, kicking at them with his uninjured leg, pulling at his restraints and screaming at them to release him.  He was the Dark One!  They would regret making him suffer this indignity!  They would regret keeping him from his boy!  He would make them beg for death!

Despite his best efforts, they were finally able to get him out of boots and trousers.  Fastening the padded cuffs around his ankles, they stepped back.  He made one last attempt to pull free of the restraints, straining until he nearly dislocated a shoulder, before going limp, exhausted.  The first thing he noticed, as rationality slowly returned to him, was that he was weeping.  He closed his eyes, silently berating himself as he pulled himself back together.  The second thing he noticed, when he opened his eyes again, was that the three men were looking at him as if they now had no doubts that he was, in fact, insane. 

How much had he said aloud?  Too much, he could tell.  What was he thinking?  He wasn’t the Dark One here.  He had just hurt his case. 

“Sorry,” he told them, feebly attempting some damage control.  “I’m sorry.”

Harrison scoffed and shook his head.  “Good luck with this guy,” he said with a nod to Frank.  With one last glance at Rumpelstiltskin, he left.  Frank crossed his arms, not looking like he planned on going anywhere anytime soon, but Arden waved him off.  

“Don’t you have rounds to make?”

Frank eyed Arden with an almost suspicious frown, but nodded.  “I’ll let Sister Jude know we have a new patient.” 

Arden’s answering smirk was so subtle that Rumpelstiltskin thought he might just be imagining it.  “You do that.”  Once Frank was out the door, Arden turned his attention back to Rumpelstiltskin.  “What is your name?”

“Rumpelstiltskin.”

Arden stared at him silently for a moment, before retrieving a too-white sheet of parchment from a drawer and writing something down.

“What drugs have you taken in the last 48 hours?”

“What?”

“What drugs have you ingested recently?” Arden repeated, sounding annoyed at having to do so.  “LSD?  Mescaline?  Psilocybin?”

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, already tired of not understanding half of what this world seemed to take for granted. 

Arden took more notes before setting down his pen and rolling a metal cart on wheels over to the table.  Picking up a length of strange rope, Arden tied it around Rumpelstiltskin’s upper arm.  It had an odd texture, and was uncomfortably tight, but he refused to complain.  Next, the crook of his elbow was swabbed with something cold.  What sort of bizarre ritual was being performed on him?  When Arden picked up an object that looked like a glass vial with a needle attached to it, Rumpelstiltskin jerked away, or tried to.  Bound as he was, it didn’t get him very far.  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Drawing blood.  I suggest you lie still.”

Rumpelstiltskin grew suspicious.  First he wanted his name, now he wanted his blood?  This was supposedly a land without magic, yet this man acted like a seasoned practitioner of the dark arts.  Acting on his suspicions, Rumpelstiltskin tried to draw upon his magic to toss the man aside.  Nothing happened.  Perhaps there really wasn’t magic in this land.  Or perhaps his magic was being blocked, somehow.  He wasn’t ready to reject that possibility.  “Why do you need my blood?”  
  
“To test you for drugs or diseases that could be the cause of your mental imbalance,” Arden answered, jabbing the needle into his arm. 

Arden filled up the vial with his blood. But instead of stopping there, he swapped out the first vial for a second one. Rumpelstiltskin frowned uncertainly. If it was black magic that Arden wanted his blood for, a few drops would have sufficed.  After filling the second one, he started on a third.  Rumpelstiltskin looked away as he began to feel queasy.  How many vials did the man plan to fill?  What if he took too much?

Before his thoughts could turn too dark, he felt Arden untie the rope from around his arm.  He looked back in time to see him withdraw the needle and press a small ball of fluff to the puncture wound, holding it in place for a moment before securing it with a thin white strip that stuck to his skin. 

“Are you done?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, watching as Arden went to rummage through a drawer. 

“No,” Arden responded, finding what he was looking and moving to a cabinet that was lit from the inside.  Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t see what he was doing, as Arden had his back turned towards him, but soon enough he closed the cabinet door and returning to his side.  He was carrying another needle, smaller than the last.  With a quick swab of his forearm, he pricked him with the needle.  It went much quicker than the blood draw, and he applied no bandage afterwards.

“What was that?”

“Tuberculin test.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the wheal the needle had raised on his arm, curious, “Did I pass?”

Arden shook his head.  “It will be two days before I can read the results,” he said, speaking more to Rumpelstiltskin’s arm than his face.  He sounded distracted, and he was frowning.  He ran a finger searchingly over his upper arm, before walking around the table and conducting a similar search on his other arm.  “Where did you say you were from?”

“I didn’t,” Rumpelstiltskin answered warily, remembering Harrison’s reaction when he asked him that question.

“Do not play games with me.”

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated.  What was the place Harrison had guessed him to be from?  He closed his eyes, thinking back.  “Scotland.”

“What part of Scotland?”

“I’m from a small village.  I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

“And do they not believe in smallpox vaccinations in this village of yours?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You lack a vaccination scar.”

“Ah,” he said, thinking fast.  “No, we don’t believe in vaccination.  It’s a barbaric practice.”

The look on Arden’s face suggested that he might have been better off not saying anything. 

“I’m curious as to how you’re here, if you aren’t up to date on your immunizations.”

Rumpelstiltskin breathed a sigh of relief.  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.  I don’t belong here.”

“I mean here in this country.  Immigration laws are quite stringent when it comes to public health and safety.”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know how to respond, and so he didn’t.  Once Arden realized he wasn’t going to, he sighed.  Turning his attention back to his piece of parchment, he began to write again.  “I’m ordering a standard battery of immunizations for you.  After tonight, you are to be quarantined in the infirmary.  Once you are current on your vaccinations, and assuming your test results come back negative, you’ll be allowed out amongst the other patients.”

Arden covered him with a thin sheet.  “You may sleep, but I’ll be rousing you throughout the night.”  Without waiting for a response, he disappeared back into his office, leaving Rumpelstiltskin alone.

Rumpelstiltskin lie awake for a long time.  Arden hadn’t doused the overhead light when he left, and he couldn’t stop dwelling on his current predicament.  The more he thought about his situation, the more hopeless he felt.  How was he supposed to convince these people he was sane, when he didn’t know what sanity looked like in this world? 

Eventually he drifted unwillingly into a fitful sleep. 

_He was back in his village._

_But he wasn’t safe._

_The sky overhead was a dark, stormy grey._

_Icy rain poured down from the heavens, turning the ground into a churning, muddy quagmire._

_A green tornado tore a path of destruction through the village.  Lightning flashed within the cyclone like the beating heart of a beast._

_It was heading straight for him._

_He tried to run, but it was impossible.  He sank deeper and deeper into the muck with each step._

_He threw himself to the ground, clawing at the mud, trying to find purchase so that he could pull himself forward._

_It was futile._

_The storm was nearly upon him._

_He was going to die._

_The wind ripped at his hair, his cloak._

_He could smell the lightning in the air._

_He could feel the sharp sting as someone slapped him in the face._

_He…._

He woke to Arden standing over him. 

“You are a difficult man to awaken,” Arden said critically.  “I was beginning to think that letting you sleep was a mistake.”  Consulting a device strapped to his arm, Arden took hold of Rumpelstiltskin’s wrist.  After a moment, he frowned.  “Your heart rate is elevated.”

“Dreams,” he explained. 

Arden didn’t reply.  Apparently satisfied with the fact that Rumpelstiltskin was still alive and capable of being woken, he turned his attention to tidying his lab.  He began picking up the clothes that the uniformed men had left laying on the floor.  Folding them neatly, he began to carry them back to his office.

“What are you doing?” Rumpelstiltskin asked.  “Those are mine.”

Arden paused, half turning to face him.  “You won’t need them here.  They’ll be put into storage.”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned.  It wasn’t the clothes he was worried about.  The people he had met so far had made it clear that those did not fit into this world.  But he had brought gold, so that he and Bae would have something to start their new lives with.  If it was lost or stolen, they’d be left with nothing.

“They’ll be safe?  They’ll be returned to me, when I leave here?”

“If you leave, yes, they’ll be returned.”

“When.”

Arden gave a cold smile, inclined his head, and left him alone once more.

Despite himself, it did not take long to drift back to sleep.

_He was in a pitch black room._

_“Papa!”_

_His son was calling for him.  He sounded frightened._

_He limped forward a step, hands outstretched before him, groping for something…anything…that could help him find his way._

_Another step._

_Another._

_“Papa, please!”_

_“I’m trying, Bae!”_

_On and on he went, through the black void.  Time seemed to drag on forever, but no matter how long he searched, he seemed to draw no closer to Bae._

_“Please, son, I’m trying to find you, but I…I need your help!  Where are you?”_

_The only answer he received was his son’s increasingly desperate cries.  They rose in pitch and intensity until they were no more than tortured, wordless screams._

When he woke, he was the one screaming.  Arden had a hand on his chest, holding him down.  Another needle was in his other hand, and once he noticed Rumpelstiltskin was awake and no longer struggling against him, he stuck him with it, depressing the plunger at the end.  “This is a sedative.  It should put you into a dreamless sleep.”

It didn’t take long for the effects of the sedative to kick in.  His whole body began to feel heavy.  He tried to tell Arden that he didn’t want to sleep anymore, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.  The world shifted in and out of focus as he struggled to speak.  With fading screams and his own unvoiced protests echoing through his mind, he was dragged back down into darkness.

..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Dr. Arden returned to his desk, retaking his seat and scowling down at his notes.  He had been on the verge of a breakthrough when his newest patient began carrying on, interrupting his train of thought.  Now, as he stared at the formula before him, he realized that the epiphany he had been so close to grasping had vanished.  His grand experiment, the culmination of his life’s work, was no closer to being perfected now than it had been before. 

He yanked off his reading glasses and closed his journal, tossing it aside in a pique. 

The book skidded across the desk, nudging the pile of clothes he had set on the corner with just enough force to send them over the edge.  They slid to the ground with a rustle of cloth and, less expectedly, the distinct clink of metal against metal.

Curiously, he rose and retrieved the coat from the floor, looking it over.  There were two outer pockets.  He checked each one, but came up empty.  Examining the coat closer, he discovered a pocket sewn into the interior.  He reached into it and fished out a large leather coin pouch.

Setting the coat aside, he loosened the purse strings and shook a few coins into his hand.  They were the size of a half dollar, stamped with markings he did not recognize, and appeared to be gold. 

Suspicious of the authenticity of the coins, he found an old spot plate in one of his drawers and dragged a coin across it.  A distinctive gold streak was left behind on the ceramic. 

Curious, indeed.

What was a madman doing with a pouch full of gold coins?

Carefully, he dumped the entire contents of the pouch onto his desk. 

For a moment he simply stared at the coins.  Then his gaze shifted to the empty pouch, puzzled.  The pile of gold that sat before him was simply too large for the purse that had held it.  He was quite certain of that.  And yet, somehow, it had. 

He counted out the coins.  By his estimate, there was enough there to live a moderately comfortable life for a year, perhaps a little longer.

He glanced towards his lab.  The patient was proving to be quite the enigma.  He didn’t believe his tale of fairies, of course.  That was ridiculous.  But there was something strange about the man.  He was a mystery that he fully intended to unravel.

He returned the coins to the pouch and tucked it away in the back of his desk drawer, for safekeeping.

..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Rumpelstiltskin woke with his head throbbing.  He groggily opened his eyes to discover daylight streaming through the barred window above.  Wincing, he closed his eyes again and raised a hand to his forehead, realizing as he did so that he was no longer tied down.  Carefully, he opened his eyes once more, and slowly pushed himself up until he was sitting.  He swayed dizzily, but managed to stay upright and look around.

He had been moved.

A row of narrow cots lined the walls on either side of the long room he found himself in.  His was the only bed occupied.  Indeed, he appeared to be the only one in the room, at all.  A tall metal pole on wheels stood nearby.  Perfect.  Standing, he carefully made his way to it, grabbing hold.  It wasn’t as stable as his walking stick, but it would do. 

Looking down at himself, he found that someone had dressed him in a thin, short sleep shirt that did little to maintain decency.  Sighing, he decided it would have to do.  But after taking a few steps towards the door, he realized that the shirt was left hanging open in the back, with no way to close it.  What a world!  No, he decided after all, this would not do.  He changed course for the bank of cabinets set behind a large desk.  Rummaging through the drawers, he found another gown, which he put on backwards over the first.  It was a start, at least.  He searched some more, but couldn’t find any trousers. 

Unfortunately, his quest for clothes left him far wearier than it should.  Whatever Arden had given him to sleep must not have fully worn off, yet.  Annoyed by his own weakness, he took a seat at the desk.  He would rest for a moment, he decided, and then find his clothes and a way out of this place. 

Resting his head in his hands, his eyes fell on what looked to be the pages of an oversized book, minus the cover.  Curiously, he flipped back through the strange book until he reached the first page.  The title was emblazoned prominently across the top: Daily Hampshire Gazette.  Directly below that, in smaller lettering, it read: Northampton, Massachusetts.  Thursday, October 22, 1964.

As he skimmed the book, he realized that it was filled with stories of important current events, several of them accompanied by drawings so realistic that he wondered how the artist had managed such a feat.  What a brilliant concept! 

Each individual story was prefaced by a descriptive title:

Heads of State Gather Today for Funeral of President Hoover

 

Red China Rejects Nuclear Test Ban Treaty

 

Massachusetts Manhunt Over; Bloody Face Apprehended

Eagerly, he rolled the pages up like a scroll.  He would take the news reporting book with him, to help him learn more about this land.  With it in one hand, and clutching his makeshift walking staff for support in the other, he stood and headed for the door.  He had only made it halfway, however, when a young woman entered. 

She wore a modest black dress with a white collar, and a similar black and white head covering that left only her blonde fringe loose.  Her eyes widened at the sight of him, startled, and he could feel his face flush.  He certainly wasn’t properly attired to be in mixed company!

“You…you shouldn’t be up!” she told him, obviously trying for a firm tone, but not quite managing it.

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice hoarse, making the words come out harsher than he intended.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  “I’m feeling much better, and I wouldn’t want to impose any further.”  He took another step forward, and the woman raised a forestalling hand. 

“Please just take a seat, and Sister Jude will be by shortly to meet with you.”  She shooed him towards the bed he had abandoned, keeping herself positioned between him and the door.

“I don’t want to take a seat,” he told her, his words slow and deliberate as he tried to keep his anger in check.  He was tired of these people telling him what to do.  “And I don’t want to meet with Sister Jude.  What I want is to get my belongings and be on my way.” 

He advanced on her as he spoke.  He knew he wasn’t a physically imposing man.  Indeed, he and the woman were of a height.  But he hoped that she would realize how serious he was about this and back down.  She matched his steps, one back for each one he took forward. 

“Please.”  She began to wring her hands, but quickly realized what she was doing and let them drop back down to her sides.  “I don’t have the authority to….”

“What is going on here?”

They both startled at the sharp voice that cut the blonde woman off, and looked towards the doorway.  The woman standing there was dressed identically to the blonde.  But she was older, her gaze harder.  She had the look of a woman who was accustomed to telling people what to do, and knowing that they would do it.  Not out of any inherent sense of loyalty or respect, but out of fear.

Yes, he knew that look well.

“Sister Jude!  I…I….” 

The full force of Sister Jude’s gaze fell on the blonde, and her words came to a stuttering halt.

“Sister Mary Eunice, why is the patient not restrained?” she asked, sounding as if she were speaking to a wayward child.

“I’m sorry, Sister!  He was sedated; I thought I had more time before he came to.  I was just telling him to return to his cot when you came in.”

“So I saw,” she said, sounding unimpressed.  Sister Mary Eunice bowed her head.

Sister Jude strode up to him and snatched the rolled up news reporting booklet out of his hand.  “When one of my staff gives you an order, you follow it,” she told him, punctuating her words by smacking him in the chest with the paper, holding it there as she locked eyes with him.  “Are we clear?”

Her gaze dared him to defy her.  He wanted to, but he knew that doing so wasn’t in his best interests.  At the moment, she held his future in her hands, and they both knew it.  Slowly, he backed up, turning to walk back to the bed.  He sat and looked up at her expectantly. 

She looked back at him just as expectantly.  “I asked you a question.”

He clenched his jaw.  “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

He frowned.  Uncertain as to what she wanted from him, he could only hazard a guess.  “Yes, Sister Jude.”

She smiled, a triumphant gesture, before glancing over her shoulder at Sister Mary Eunice.  “Find Sister Bernadette and Carl, tell them they are needed in the infirmary.  Then go relieve Sister Josephine in the bakery.  The afternoon shift will be starting soon,” she said, dismissing her.

“Yes, Sister,” Mary Eunice replied, very nearly bobbing a curtsey before beating a hasty retreat.

Turning back to him once they were alone, Sister Jude said, “Well then, Mr. John Doe, I hear you had quite the eventful night.  Assaulting a state trooper, resisting arrest, and throwing what was, by all reports, a spectacular temper tantrum in Dr. Arden’s office.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, “That’s not my name.”

Her eyes flicked briefly upwards, as if appealing to the heavens above.  “Yes, I know that’s not your name.  But until we learn your real name, that is what you’ll be called.  Unless you prefer Patient #F41461, that is.”

“I prefer Rumpelstiltskin.”

Sister Jude pursed her lips, fixing him with a disapproving stare before going on as if he hadn’t spoken.  “Violence against staff members and other patients is not tolerated.  Understood?”  
  
“Yes, Sister Jude.”

“You will remain here in the infirmary until Dr. Arden has cleared you.  The police will fingerprint you when they bring us your paperwork.  Then we might actually learn your name.”

He didn’t argue, even though the idea of learning his name by taking prints of his fingers was preposterous.

Another middle aged, black and white clad woman walked into the room, accompanied by a man dressed all in white.  Sister Bernadette and Carl, he assumed.  Sister Jude acknowledged them with a nod, before turning back to him.

“Any questions?”

He shook his head, assuming that any questions he did have wouldn’t be answered.  That seemed to be the trend.  “No, Sister.”

She smiled, cold and insincere.  “Welcome to Briarcliff.”


	3. Desperate Souls

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

 

Music drifted through the air as he was led to the common room by one of the orderlies, the singing growing louder as they drew closer to their destination.  He had been trapped in this place for several days, now, and this was his first time out of the infirmary.  In that time, he had been jabbed with more needles than he cared to count, had been informed that he tested negative for all the diseases that Dr. Arden had been worried he might have been infected with, as well as the drugs Dr. Arden had suspected he might be under the influence of.  That was, apparently, bad news.  It meant that there were no easy explanations for what these people had coined ‘his delusions’. 

Harrison, true to his word, had also been by to drop off paperwork and take his fingerprints.  When Rumpelstiltskin asked him if he knew how Baelfire was doing, he had answered with a curt, “The boy is fine.”  That had been the extent of their conversation.

He had then been made to stand in the center of cage-like contraption, sprayed down with water, and dusted with white powder, this world’s answer to bathing, he supposed.  Afterwards, he was given undergarments, a pair of blue trousers, a blue button-down shirt, and a pair of white shoes that had eyelets, but no laces.

Now here he was, standing in the doorway to the common room, looking in at the inhabitants.  It was not a heartening sight.  True, there were some people who were sitting quietly in chairs scattered throughout the room, or playing games at the tables.  There was also a woman who stood near the door, banging her head against the wall; a man strapped into an uncomfortable looking white coat that pinned his arms to his body pacing around the room, talking to himself; and a dark-haired woman twirling slowly to the music.

The music.

He looked around, confused.  The music was clearly coming from within the room, but not a single person was singing.  No instruments were being played.  Just phantom music playing with no apparent source, unending and unsettling.

Someone bumped into him from behind, jolting him from his search.  He turned to find a woman who looked to be in her early thirties, her blonde hair inexplicably shaved at one temple, scowling at him.  “We already have a door, here.  You don’t need to do its job for it,” she said testily.

He frowned and moved further into the room, unblocking the entryway.  She breezed by him, but then paused and turned, looking him up and down.  Without a word, she stepped up to him and began tugging at his shirt.

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously.

She kept up what she was doing, ignoring his question.  Once she had his shirt untucked, she unbuttoned his top two buttons, loosening his collar, then stepped back to survey her work. 

“Roll up your sleeves,” she told him.  Still frowning, he did so, if only to avoid having her do it for him.  She nodded approvingly, “Better.”

A man with greasy black hair, standing close enough to have witnessed the exchange, laughed.  “Damn, Shelley, he just got here.  And he ain’t much to look at, neither.  You that desperate?  Cause I can help you out with that, if you are.”

“Fuck you, Spivey,” she said dismissively.

“About time you asked,” Spivey said with a smirk, making a show of unbuttoning his trousers and stepping closer to her.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced around the room for the orderly who had brought him to the common room, but he had disappeared.  Hesitating to get involved, he nonetheless pushed his way in between the two of them, facing Spivey with a practiced sneer.  “Ah!” he said, raising a warning finger, before pointing at the other man.  “I believe the lady made herself clear.”

“Lady?” Spivey laughed.  “She ain’t no lady, that’s for damn sure!”

“Regardless, you should….”

He was cut off midsentence as Spivey shoved him, hard.  He lost his balance and ended up on his back on the ground.  “You trying to tell me what to do?” Spivey asked, looming over him.  “ _You_ don’t get to tell _me_ what to do!”

Before he could respond, someone else cut in.  “Stop it, all of you!”  The speaker, a young woman standing by the window, had an accent that differed significantly from the native accent of this region.  At least he wasn’t the only one here who was far from home.  Once she saw that she had their attention, she announced with keen interest, “He’s here.”

“Who?” Spivey asked.  “Bloody Face?”

“Oh!  I wanna see!”  Shelley practically ran to the window.  Her face lit up with a hungry, manic smile, “Ohhhh, he’s mine.”  The woman beside her laughed and shook her head, which earned her a glare.  “I mean it!  Don’t go up against me on this, Grace!”

With everyone’s attention elsewhere, Spivey lost interest in Rumpelstiltskin, leaving him to struggle to his feet on his own.  No one paid him any more mind.  No one except the older woman he had noticed when he first walked in.  She had stopped dancing and was staring straight at him as he pulled himself up.  When their eyes met, she clutched at the beaded necklace she wore with one hand and quickly averted her gaze, touching the fingertips of her free hand to her forehead, chest, and each shoulder in turn.  “Oh Señor, Dios mío, en ti me refugio; sálvame….”

He made his way to the window, casting frequent glances towards the woman.  He couldn’t understand the words she was speaking, but whatever she was saying, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  “What’s she saying?” he asked, nodding towards the woman.

“The Mexican?  Who knows?  No one can ever understand her,” Shelley said without interest.  She looked back out the window, and after one last wary glance at the Mexican, he did the same.  A crowd had gathered outside to watch a young man in chains being hauled up the stairs.

“Who is he?  Why is he here?”

“He’s a murderer.”

He laughed, “Him?  He’s just a boy.”

The lad couldn’t have been more than a handful of years older than Baelfire.  He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, at the thought of his son.

Shelley shrugged one shoulder, “Well, that didn’t stop him from killing women.  He’d skin them alive, then he’d use the skin to make masks.  That’s how he earned his nickname.”

“Charming.”

She grinned at his sarcasm, and continued.  “They say he killed his wife.  That’s how they finally caught him.”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned.  “What kind of man kills his own wife?”

“ _Allegedly,_ ” Grace broke in suddenly.  “He allegedly killed his wife and those other women.  He hasn’t stood trial, yet.  This is America.  Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

“I still don’t understand why he’s here.  If they think he murdered people, why isn’t he locked away in a dungeon?”

They both looked at him askance at the mention of dungeons, and Shelley asked, “Don’t you know where you are?”

“Briarcliff,” he answered.  Not that anyone had bothered to tell him what that meant.

“Yeah, Briarcliff Asylum for the Criminally Insane.  He’s here so they can decide whether he’s crazy or not.  If he is, he stays here.  If he’s not, he goes to prison.”

“The criminally insane?”

“Don’t act so shocked.  You had to do something to end up here.  So, what was it?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s what everyone here says.”

“What did _you_ do?”

“I like sex.”

“That’s a crime in this world?”

“If you’re a woman,” Shelley answered bitterly. 

“This world?” Grace asked, curiously. 

“This country,” he corrected, before shifting the attention onto her.  “What about you?”

“Me?  I did nothing.”

Shelley smirked.  “See?”

 

 

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

 

The rest of the day dragged out agonizingly slow.  He didn’t speak much to the others after the mob outside disbanded, preferring to sit by himself and think about how he was going to escape.

After dinner, he was shown to his room, which turned out to be little more than a cell.  A cot was centered in the middle of the small space, the only furniture the room boasted.  The door locked after it was shut behind him, and once everyone was settled in, the lights were shut off.

The night seemed even longer than the day, and he was awake long before the orderlies came around to rouse everyone out of bed.  He and the other men were led to the entrance hall, where the women were already waiting.

Sister Mary Eunice was there, standing beside a white statue of a woman, her smile bright and hopeful as they were lined up in front of her.  “Good morning, everyone!  Please bow your heads for the morning devotion.”  Her face brightened even further, as if the most wonderful thought suddenly occurred to her.  Looking straight at him, she said, “Being new here, perhaps you’d like to lead us in prayer, this morning?”

He frowned at her, but it didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm.  “Very well,” he agreed, trying to recall an appropriate supplication that might suit the occasion.  He raised his hands, palms up, and began.  “Glory be to the gods above.  May they bless this newly dawned day, and all….”

“No!  He’s doing it wrong!”  Another patient shoved his way through the group until he stood before Rumpelstiltskin, angry and accusing. “You’re doing it wrong!”

With that single condemnation, pandemonium broke out.  More people joined in the shouting, closely followed by the hysterical crying of those who were upset by the yelling.  And above it all, his detractor continued to chant, “Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!”

The noise died down immediately when a sharp whistle pierced the air.  Sister Jude descended the spiral staircase, all barely contained fury and disapproval.  “You are all very much aware of how you are expected to conduct yourselves during morning devotions,” she said in a low voice, eyes sweeping the crowd.  “Who disrupted the prayer?”

Several fingers pointed in his direction, and he drew himself up angrily.  “That’s a lie!  Sister Mary Eunice asked me to lead the prayer.  He interrupted me.”  He jabbed a finger at his accuser, who wilted under Sister Jude’s scrutiny and tried to melt back into the crowd.

Sister Jude shifted her gaze to Sister Mary Eunice expectantly.  “I assumed he’d know some proper Catholic prayers,” the younger woman said in her defense, before explaining what had happened. 

Sister Jude’s eyes locked onto his for a moment, before she snapped to the others, “The rest of you, go to breakfast!”  Pointing to him, she said, “You stay.”

She waited until everyone had filed off down the hall, before whirling on him.  “Now you listen here. Your beloved Churchill may get away with dabbling in that pagan mumbo jumbo, but you are no Churchill!  I will not tolerate any heathen tomfoolery in my asylum.”

“Heathen tomfoolery?” he repeated, not having the slightest notion what she meant by that, or how it related to what had just happened.

“Gods and goddesses.  Fairies.  Magic.  There is one God.  Everything else is just make-believe.  These poor people have enough troubles without you filling their heads with talk of giants, or elves, or ogres living under bridges.”

“Trolls.”

“Excuse me?”

“Trolls live under bridges.”

“I think you and I are going to finish this in my office.”  Her tone made it clear that finding oneself in her office was not an enviable situation to be in.

In an effort to avoid the conversation escalating any further, he conceded, “I suppose there’s really no rule that says an ogre couldn’t live under a bridge, if it wanted to.”

His attempt clearly didn’t have the desired effect.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “You…” she began, but was cut off by someone clearing their throat.  She turned to the source, “What is it, Frank?”

“Sorry to interrupt, Sister, but you said you wanted to know when Walker started to come to.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Turning back to him, she said, “You are lucky that I have bigger fish to fry, this morning.  But if I hear one more complaint about you….”  She left the threat hanging, unspoken.  “Go,” she ordered, with a distracted wave in the direction of the cafeteria.

He was only a few steps down the hall, Sister Jude and Frank having set off in a different direction, when he was stopped by someone trying to get his attention.  “Psst!”

Standing in the doorway of a side room, just out of sight of where he had been speaking with Sister Jude, was Shelley.  She raised a sardonic eyebrow.  “Ogres?”

He shrugged.  “Not really my favorite subject.”

“Bad blood between you?”

“Yes.”

She studied him as if she couldn’t quite decide whether she believed him or not.  Or perhaps she was trying to decide if he believed himself.  He forced a laugh, playing the conversation off as a joke.

She laughed with him.  “I like you, Rumpel.  You’re a hell of a lot more interesting than most of the guys around here.”

He felt a pang at the nickname.  She must have read it in his face, because she asked, “Do people not call you Rumpel?”

“Only my wife.”

“You have a wife?”

“Had.”

“Divorced?”

“What?”

“Did you go your separate ways?”

“Ah, no.  She, uh, she died.”

“Oh.  I wish my husband was dead, the bastard.  He’s the one who stuck me in this hellhole to rot.”

“I can’t imagine doing such a thing to someone I loved.  Milah and I…things were difficult between us, but we were trying.  Then she was gone, just like that.  I couldn’t save her.” 

There was a long and awkward silence between them, after he was done speaking. 

“It’s a shame you and your husband couldn’t work out your problems together,” he offered, to break some of the tension.

“Yeah, well, like I said, he’s a bastard.  I’m sorry you and your wife never got the chance.”

He nodded wordlessly.

“Anyway,” she said with false brightness, “like I said, I like you.  You pushed Sister Jude’s buttons, and you got away with it, too!  Enjoy that while you can.  If she hadn’t been distracted, she’d be introducing you to one of her canes, right now.”

“She canes patients?”

“Every chance she gets.  That’s Sister Jude for you; spare the rod, spoil the psycho.”

“The men as well as the women?”

“Yep, doesn’t matter to her.”

“That’s improper!”

She laughed at him.  “You’re cute when you blush.”

“I don’t blush,” he countered, with all the dignity he could muster.

“Mm-hmm, if you say so.  Come on, we should get to breakfast before we’re missed.”

 

  _Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_  


“You missed it!” Shelley greeted him, when he entered the common room that afternoon.  He had spent the morning working his first shift in the asylum’s bakery.  For a few hours, he had almost enjoyed himself.  The work was simple and repetitive.  It reminded him of his spinning, and for a while he was able to drift into a mindless haze and forget his misfortune.

“Missed what?”

“Kit Walker got tossed into solitary for fighting, less than five minutes after being brought in here.  That’s got to be some kind of record.”

“Who?”

“Bloody Face,” she said with an impatient wave of the hand that suggested he needed to do a better job of keeping up.

“Ah.”

“Muster up a little enthusiasm, will you?  Gossip is one of the only things keeping me sane in here.”

He couldn’t help the small smirk her words drew out of him.  “I thought we were all mad, here.”

“Very funny.”  When she caught his attention wavering around the room, she snapped her fingers in front of his face.  “Hey, they got you all doped up, already?”

“What?  No, I’ve yet to discover where the music is coming from.  It’s distracting.”

It was her turn to smirk at him.  When he frowned back, she raised her eyebrows, “You’re serious?  I swear it’s like you’re from another century.”  Indicating that he should follow her, she led him to the other side of the room.  Sitting on a table was a wooden box with a hinged lid.  The box housed a spinning disc.  Indeed, now that it was pointed out to him, it was clear that the music was coming from the device.

“Remarkable.  How does it work?”

“Damned if I know.  I wish it would break.  I’m sick of this song.”

“There must be some way to shut it off,” he reasoned, reaching for the device to see if he could find a way.

She grabbed his wrist.  “You really don’t want to do that.  No turning off the music.  Sister Jude’s orders.”

He let his arm drop to his side.  “What else does the great Sister Jude demand of her subjects?” he asked with deliberate sarcasm, so that Shelley didn’t think he actually believed Jude was royalty.

“A list of dos and don’ts too long to, well, list.  Wanna play checkers?”

“No.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

They found an empty table to sit at, and he watched as she set up the game.  It didn’t take long for him to realize he recognized the layout.  “Draughts!”

“What?”

“I know this game!”

“That’s less of an accomplishment than you make it sound,” she teased.  “But good, then I don’t have to explain it to you.”

They were halfway through the first game when an excited voice piped up from right beside him.  “Pepper play!”

He glanced over, and jerked back at the sight of the creature starring back at him.  It had oversized ears and teeth, a bulbous nose, and abnormally large hands.  Its head was shaved, with the exception of a curling lock of hair gathered up into a topknot and held with a ribbon.  It took him a closer look to realize that its features weren’t overly large.  Instead, it was the creature’s skull that was too small for the rest of its body.

“Jesus, Pepper!” Shelley said, annoyed.  “You’re gonna give someone a heart attack one of these days!  Buzz off!”

“Sorry,” Pepper said, but didn’t move.

He ran through a mental list, trying to classify Pepper.  “Are you a gnome?” he asked.  He hadn’t had occasion to meet a gnome, before, but he imagined it would look something like this. 

The creature put a hand to its chest and said, “Pepper!”

Shelley sighed.  “She’s not a gnome.”

“What is she, then?”

“She’s a person.  You can’t just go around accusing people of being gnomes.  It’s not normal.”

He scoffed.  He was the abnormal one, here?  “Well what was I supposed to think?”

“Not that she’s a gnome, that’s for sure.  You want a shot at getting out of here?  Don’t let any of the nuns hear you say stuff like that!”

“Pepper play?” Pepper asked, tentatively, moving around some of the pieces on the board.

“I said buzz off!” Shelley yelled, and Pepper scurried away.

Shelley looked down at the ruined game and huffed, sweeping the pieces back into the box. 

“I take it the game is over?”

She slammed the box onto the table.  “I hate this place!  I can’t take it anymore!”  She lowered her voice so that only he could hear.  “I gotta get out of here.”

“Is there a way out of here?  Has anyone ever escaped, before?”

“Not yet.  But there’s a first time for everything.  There’s gotta be a way, and we’re gonna find it.” 

“We?”

“Yeah, why not?  You’re a little weird, but you’re not dangerous.  Neither of us should be stuck in here with a bunch of freaks and murderers when we haven’t done anything wrong.”

An irrational part of him, perhaps some holdover from the Dark One, bristled at her assessment of him.  “What makes you think I’m not dangerous?”

She gave him an unimpressed look.  “Skinny little gimp like you?  Please.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” he said, standing.  Why did this turn in the conversation bother him so much?  Wasn’t that why he had agreed to come to this world?  He couldn’t be trusted not to hurt people back home.  His son feared the monster he had become.  But here he could be the man he once was, the man Baelfire wanted him to be again.  He should be pleased at Shelley’s assessment of him.  It meant that Bae’s plan had worked.  And, for the most part, he was pleased.  It was the part of him that wasn’t that worried him.  “I’m not feeling well,” he lied, excusing himself from her company.  “I’m going to my room to lie down.”

Despite his attempts to leave her behind, Shelley followed him out of the common room, waiting until they were through the bustling entrance hall before speaking.  “Oh, come on, I know you’re not sick.  Look, I’m sorry I called you a skinny gimp.”  She sidled up closer to him.  “I’ll make it up to you.” 

He faltered at her suggestive tone.  “That’s not necessary.”

“Do you know how long it’s been since a man has been nice to me?  Since anybody has treated me like something more than a common whore?”  She spat the word, as if it were poison.  He stopped walking, and she took it as an invitation, pressing herself against him.  “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not,” he began, and paused to clear his throat, lowering his voice back down to its proper octave.  “I’m not angry at you.  And this is most certainly not necessary.”  He backed up, but she followed, until he was backed against the wall of the deserted corridor.

She shrugged.  “Maybe not, but I’m bored.  And this is a lot more fun than checkers, don’t you think?”

Before he could articulate a response, she slipped a hand down the front of his trousers.  Whatever words he might have spoken were lost to the undignified little yelp the action drew from him.  She grinned.  “You have to be quiet.  We’re not supposed to be doing this.”

“Then we shouldn’t,” he managed to reason, despite the distraction her fingers were causing.

“You don’t mean that,” she said with certainty, and he could feel his face heat as he caught her meaning.

“That’s not…that doesn’t mean…I do mean it!  Please stop.  This isn’t the proper way to go about this sort of thing.”

She looked at him incredulously, but removed her hand, though she remained standing uncomfortably close.  “What sort of thing do you think this is?  I’m just looking to have a little fun with a nice guy.”

He floundered for an answer.  Did people really give themselves to near strangers, in this world?  With no courtship?  No expectations?  For fun? 

“What do you think you’re doing, Shelley?”

Carl, one of the orderlies, had managed to approach without either of them noticing.  Shelley stepped away from him, not looking the slightest bit embarrassed at having been caught in a compromising situation, and turned to the other man.  “What’s it look like, Carl?”

“Looks like you’re trying to get yourself in trouble.  Again.”

“You gonna go running to Sister Jude?  Tell on us?”

“That is the protocol.”

“Is there any way I could convince you not to do that?  Nothing happened, after all.”

“I’m sure we could work something out….”

Rumpelstiltskin took advantage of their distraction with one another to retreat.  The afternoon had shaped up to be nothing more than one embarrassment after another.  All he wanted to do was to be left alone for the rest of the day, and hope that by morning he could pretend that none of this had happened.

 

  
_Dominique, nique, nique_   
_S'en allait tout simplement,_   
_Routier, pauvre et chantant_   
_En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_   
_Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_   
_Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_   


 

Shelley flounced down next to him on the sofa.  He pretended to be too engrossed with watching the world outside the window to notice her.  That didn’t last long.

“Jerk.”

He glanced at her.  She was looking back at him.  “Yeah, you,” she said, though neither the words nor her expression held any real venom.

“What did I do?”

“Besides abandon me, yesterday?  It wasn’t just me who would have gotten into trouble, if Carl decided to actually do his job.  It’s you, too.  So you’re welcome.”

“You seemed to have the situation well in hand.”

“We were lucky.  I know how to handle Carl.”

“And how is that?”

She tilted her head and gave him a look.  It was a look that was strikingly similar to one that Milah had given him on occasion.  It told him that he was being incredible thick-witted about something.  Why she was giving him that look was beyond him.  His question had been perfectly valid.  He was new here.  How would he be expected to know what would and would not serve as bribes for the orderlies?  He didn’t have anything to barter with, even if he wanted to.  For that matter, what could she possibly have to…? 

“Oh,” he said, awkwardly dropping his gaze from hers.

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a long moment.  What did he say to that?

“Well don’t be weird about it,” she said, at his silence.  “I don’t mind.  Carl’s an okay guy.  And at least he was interested, unlike you.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he explained, looking back up at her.  “I simply don’t have those types of feelings for you.”

She shrugged.  “Actually, I think it’s kinda cute that you want to have feelings for someone before you’ll have sex with them.  You’re a romantic at heart, I can respect that.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence until the relative peace of the common room was suddenly broken.  “Can I at least have a pad of paper and a pencil?”  He glanced over to see a woman, roughly the same age as Shelley, conversing with an orderly.  She held herself tall, chin up, but he could recognize the fearful, desperate edge that crept into her voice, despite her efforts to hide it behind a forceful façade.

“Nope.”

“May I ask why not?”

“Sister Jude’s orders.”

“I see.  Does that rule apply to everyone here, or just me?”

The orderly shrugged.  “Does it matter?  You’re not getting it, either way.”

"Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”

With that sarcastic parting shot, she stalked away from the orderly. 

“Huh,” Shelley said.

“What?” he asked.

“I’ve seen her.  She was in Sister Jude’s office a couple days ago.  And then I saw her sneaking around the place last night, looking for Kit.  She’s some kind of reporter.  Writes for a newspaper.  What’s she doing here dressed like a patient?”

He shook his head, not even attempting to guess. 

“Hey!” Shelley called out, “Hannah!”

The other woman stopped, looking confused, but the confusion lifted as she recognized Shelley.  “Lana, actually,” she corrected gently, walking up to them.

“What the hell?”

“My name is Lana.”

“No, I mean what are you doing here?”

“Oh.”  Lana glanced down, blushing.  “I was attacked by…something…last night.  I was knocked unconscious.  When I woke up this morning, Sister Jude had somehow managed to get her hands on signed commitment papers.”

“Why?  From who?”

“My…roommate.  I’m sure there’s been some mistake.  Sister Jude is only doing this so that I don’t expose what I saw.  I just need to speak with Wendy, get this cleared up.”

“Your roommate?  Since when can a roommate have you committed to an asylum?”

Lana took a seat on the couch next to Shelley, but didn’t answer.  There was silence for a beat, and then Shelley seemed to catch on to something Rumpelstiltskin didn’t.  “Ohhh, roommate.”  She put on odd emphasis on the word, this time.  Lana nodded.

“That bitch.”

“No, Wendy is very nice.  You don’t….”

“Not her.  Sister Jude.”

Lana gave a wan smile.  “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

He spoke up for the first time since Lana joined them.  “What, exactly, do you mean when you say roommate?” he asked, using the same emphasis that Shelley had used.

Lana seemed startled, though whether it was from his question, or simply that she had forgotten he was there, he couldn’t tell.  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at him warily.  “Who are you?”

He weighed whether or not to give her his name, or go the easier route and use ‘John Doe’.  Fewer people looked at him strangely when he resigned himself to that made up moniker.  In the end, his pause turned out to be too long for Shelley’s tastes, because she answered for him.  “This is Rumpelstiltskin.  He’s a good guy, you can trust him.”

“Hmm,” Lana said.  He had the feeling she didn’t trust easily.  “Rumpelstiltskin.  That’s an interesting name.  Is that German?”

“Scottish, I think,” he answered.

“No, it doesn’t sound Scottish at all.”

“To be honest, I don’t know where the name came from.”

“You never asked your parents?”

“Ah…no.  My mother died in childbirth.”

“I’m sorry.  And your father?”

“He abandoned me.”

“I’m…sorry.”  Lana looked as if she regretted asking.  “I know how difficult that is.  My parents no longer choose to speak to me.  I haven’t seen them in years.”

“I was very young.  I don’t really remember him.”

“Were you raised in an orphanage, then?”

“No, I had Aunties who took me in.  I don’t know if I was actually related to either of them, but that’s what they told me I could call them.  Neither of them had ever married.  They were very good friends, though, and neither had any other family around, so they lived together.”

Both women smiled knowingly. 

“What?” he asked, suspiciously.

“I think your Aunties might have been roommates,” Shelley answered with a little grin.

And there was the emphasis on that word, again.

“It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest,” said Sister Jude.  They turned to find her behind them.  She braced her hands on the back of the sofa, eyeing the three of them.  “The idea of two homosexuals being allowed to raise a child together is abominable.  It’s a foregone conclusion that any child reared in that environment would grow up to be a degenerate.  You need a mother and a father to raise a healthy, productive member of society.  It’s no wonder you ended up in here,” she said directly to him.  Then, to Lana, “You see what happens?”

Rumpelstiltskin felt sick and angry.  It wasn’t the insult directed at him that bothered him much.  It was what Sister Jude was implying about his Aunts.  They had taken him in when he had nowhere else to go.  They had treated him like their own.  They had loved him.  He could count on one hand the number of people he’d had in his life who he could say that about.  They had taught him the trade that would be his livelihood, the trade that had allowed him to provide for his own family.  She didn’t even know them.  How dare she judge them! 

He must have tensed, because Shelley put a warning hand on his arm.  He looked over to see her glaring at Sister Jude as if she wanted to tear her throat out.  Beside her, Lana looked as stricken as he felt.

Looking satisfied at the damage she had wrought, Sister Jude walked away, leaving them alone once more.

None of them spoke again for a long time.


	4. The Devil You Know

“My name’s Dr. Oliver Thredson.  I’m your court-appointed psychiatrist.”  He held out his hand and, after a moment, Rumpelstiltskin shook it.  He was a tall, clean-cut man with a mild, soft-spoken manner that seemed to be adopted deliberately, no doubt to encourage docility in those he spoke to. 

“I saw you speaking with Kit Walker, earlier,” Rumpelstiltskin commented, as Thredson led him to a quiet corner of the common room.  The boy had finally been let out of solitary that morning, probably because of the doctor’s visit.  Rumpelstiltskin’s first glimpse of him up close hadn’t changed his initial opinion.  He didn’t come across as a murderer.  He came across as a confused kid.

“Yes, I’m assigned to his case, as well.  But I’m not at liberty to discuss that.  I’d much rather focus on you, right now.”  He motioned to a chair, and Rumpelstiltskin sat.  Thredson sat across from him, a small table between them, his pen poised over a pad of paper.  “I’d like to begin with some simple questions to establish a history.  I understand that you don’t remember your name?”

“No, I do.  It’s Rumpelstiltskin.  I don’t understand why that’s such a point of contention with you people.”

Thredson scribbled some notes.  “Alright, Rumpelstiltskin, what is your date of birth?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he deflected.

“As I said, I’m establishing a history.”

“October 22nd,” he said.  That was, after all, his first day on this earth.  It seemed fitting.

“Year?”

He did some quick math in his head.  “1916.”

“Where were you born?”

“Scotland.”

“What city?”

“I don’t know.”

“Highest level of education completed?”

“My Aunt Holda taught me reading and numbers.”

“So you have no formal education?”

“We weren’t wealthy.”

More scribbling.

“Occupation?”

In his short time in this world, he had learned that things that were done by hand back home, such as spinning wool, were apparently done by intricate machines, here.  He adjusted his answer accordingly.  “I work in textiles.” 

“Married?”

“Widowed.”

“And you have only the one son?”

“You know about Bae?”

“Yes, he’s mentioned in your file.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s at Stetson School.”

“Yes, but what is that?”

“It’s a boarding school for troubled boys.”

“My son’s not troubled.”

“The school will be conducting its own evaluation of him, to determine…”

“My son is not troubled!  He shouldn’t be locked away with boys who are!”

“I assure you that your son is perfectly safe and being well cared for.”

“You can’t guarantee that!  He could get hurt!”

“The staff won’t let that happen.”

“If that place is anything like here…”

“Stetson is nothing like Briarcliff.  For one, your son isn’t being accused of criminal activity.”

“And I am?”

“You assaulted an officer of the law.  Even if they can find nothing else to tie you to, you’re still facing felony charges for that alone.”

“I don’t understand.  No one was hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He huffed an incredulous laugh.  “Let me get this straight.  I try to protect my son from being kidnapped.  I injure no one.  _I’m_ the one who ends up with a concussion.  But I’m the criminal?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Rumpelstiltskin threw up his hands.

Thredson pressed on with his questioning.  “How long have you been in this country?”

Rumpelstiltskin remained silent; knowing that there was no way that he could give an answer that Bae, if he were asked the same question, would choose as well.  Silence seemed to be the wrong tactic, however, as Thredson settled back, clearly ready to wait him out.  After several minutes of staring at each other, Thredson said, “I’ll be frank.  It won’t look good to the court if you’re described as uncooperative in my report.”

“What would look good in your report?”

“I’m partial to the truth.”

“The truth is…complicated.”

“Try it.  I’m here to help you.  But I can’t do that if you’re not completely honest with me.”

“It sounds insane.”

“Truth is often stranger than fiction.”

Hesitantly, still not entirely trusting that he was doing the right thing, he told Thredson his story.  Bae could corroborate, if need be, and then finally they’d have someone from this world on their side.  He began with the threat of Baelfire being conscripted to fight in the Ogre War, and continued on until he reached the present.  He left some details vague.  He didn’t think it would be prudent to mention the people he had killed, or to reveal too much about the nature of his former powers.  Instead, he downplayed events, implying that it was a growing over-reliance on magic and abuse of his newfound power that had prompted Bae to want him to give it up and start over.

Thredson took notes throughout the telling.  When Rumpelstiltskin was finished, he looked at him expectantly.  The other man was very good at hiding his thoughts.  He couldn’t read his face.  “That is a fascinating tale,” Thredson finally remarked.

“Do you believe it?”

“I believe that you believe it.”

Rumpelstiltskin felt his heart sink, despite knowing that his story was unlikely to be readily accepted.  It was still a blow to have Thredson’s doubt spoken so plainly.  “Speak with Baelfire,” he said.  “Ask him to tell you his story.  You’ll see that I’m telling you the truth.”

“He’ll have been assigned his own doctor, by now.  I can’t…”

Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, slapping his hand down on the tabletop, “Talk to him!  You said you wanted to help, this is how!”  He took a deep breath before continuing, calmer.  “At least listen to him, before you dismiss my story.  He’s an honest boy.  He won’t lie to you.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He settled back, appeased.  “Thank you.  And when you see him, could you tell him that I’m doing everything I can to get back to him?  I don’t want him to think I’ve abandoned him.”

“I don’t think he thinks that.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him, all the same.”

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

“Mother!  Father!  Why have you brought me here?  What did I do?  Please don’t leave me!”

“We’re not leaving you.  We just want to help you, Jed.”

The commotion from the entry hall drew Rumpelstiltskin’s attention.  He walked to the doorway, looking out at the scene.  Two orderlies were escorting a struggling teenager away from his parents.  The boy’s father had an arm around the mother’s shoulders, the both of them wearing identical looks of concern as they watched their son.

“I don’t need help!  I just want to go home!”

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help but feel that, despite his protestations of innocence, there was something off about the boy, Jed.  Something had changed with his arrival.  The air hummed.  He could feel the vibrations resonate within his chest. 

“Soon,” his mother promised.  “We just need to talk to somebody about what’s been happening, lately.”

Jed looked as if he was going to reply, but then he spotted Rumpelstiltskin watching.  Instantly, his entire demeanor changed.  He shook his head, as if he were scolding a child, “Tsk tsk tsk, you aren’t supposed to be here.”  His voice had dropped, becoming almost unrecognizable compared to the child who had moments before been begging his parents not to leave him alone.

He stared at Rumpelstiltskin, rooted to the spot.  The orderlies pushed and pulled at him, but he didn’t budge.  He was waiting for a response.  “I know I’m not,” was all Rumpelstiltskin could say. 

Jed laughed, low and harsh.  “We’ll discuss your failure, later.”

The orderlies nearly fell as Jed began walking once more, having not given up their attempt to move him by force.  They quickly recovered themselves, and soon they were out of sight, leaving behind Jed’s distraught parents, and a bewildered Rumpelstiltskin.

Failure?  What had the boy meant by that?

“What the fuck?”

Rumpelstiltskin looked over to find Shelley staring at him, looking genuinely alarmed. 

“Since when do you speak crazy?” she asked him.

“What do you mean by that?”

“He said something in gibberish, and then you talked back to him in gobbledygook!”

He shook his head.  “You must have misheard.  He said I don’t belong here, and I agreed with him.”

She continued to stare at him as if he had two heads.  “That’s not what it sounded like.  We need to get you out of here.  This place is not good for your sanity.”

“I’m working on that.”

“How?”

“Dr. Thredson is going to help me prove that I’m not crazy.”

Warily, she asked, “What did you tell him?”

“The truth.”

“Oh God, you didn’t.”

“What?”

“Did you mention gnomes?”

He scoffed.  “No, I didn’t mention gnomes.”

“But it was something like that, right?  I’m not stupid.  You try and play all that fairy tale stuff off as a joke, but I can tell it isn’t.  You actually believe it.”

“I believe it because it is true.”

“No, Rumpel, it’s not.  I can’t believe you admitted all this to a psychiatrist.  I thought you were smarter than that!  They’ll commit you for sure, now.”

“They won’t.  Dr. Thredson is going to talk to Bae.  He’ll tell him the same thing I did, and then he’ll have to believe us.”

She went on as if he hadn’t spoken.  “Don’t worry, all is not lost.”

“I’m not worried.”

“I have a plan.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to convince Arden to allow me outside for some fresh air and sunshine.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to use my womanly charms, of course.”

He raised a hand as if to gesture, ‘Of course!’

“Once out the door, I’ll distract the orderlies long enough for you to sneak out without being noticed.”

Already, he did not like their odds of success. 

“Then I’ll give them the slip, meet up with you, and we’ll make a run for it.”

He looked pointedly at his leg.

“We’ll walk, then.  You know what I mean!”

“I don’t mean to sound pessimistic, but this is a terrible plan.”

“You don’t get to pass judgment on my plan, after stupidly confessing to your shrink that you’re crazy.”

He sighed.  “When are you going to talk to Dr. Arden?”

“Today.  I saw him earlier, flirting with Sister Mary Oblivious.  Have you seen the way he looks at her?  My, what big eyes he has,” she said, smirking at him.  She obviously thought she was being clever.  He shook his head with an apologetic shrug, and her face fell.  “You really didn’t get the reference?”

“Should I have?”

“Little Red Riding Hood?”

“Sorry, I don’t know who that is.”

“It’s a fairy tale.  I figured with those being your thing, you’d know it.  Little Red Riding Hood is sent with a basket of goodies to her grandmother’s house.  Only when she gets there, she finds a wolf disguised as her grandmother.  And the wolf tries to eat her, but she’s saved by a woodsman.  Ring any bells?”

 “A wolf disguised itself as her grandmother?  That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, a talking wolf in a nightgown is ridiculous, but ogres aren’t?”

“It was a talking wolf?  That’s even worse.”

She gave him a long suffering look.  “Anyway, back to Dr. Arden.  I figure he’s good and frustrated, by now, after spending time with the good Sister, today.  So this is the perfect opportunity for me to offer to ease some of his tension, in exchange for just a little time outside these walls.  It’s perfect.”

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

Rumpelstiltskin tried to look as casual as possible as he loitered around the door of the common room, keeping the front door of the asylum in sight as he awaited Shelley’s appearance.  It had been a while since she left to go speak with Arden, and he had nothing to do but wait and try to ignore the itch between his shoulder blades that had been there since his brief conversation with Jed.  When Shelley finally appeared, her expression made it clear that her plan had not gone as she intended.

She stormed into the room, grabbing his sleeve as she passed and dragging him along with her to a set of chairs. 

“We’ll find another way,” he said diplomatically, as he sat.

“That man is a heartless, twisted bastard!”

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, not knowing what exactly he could do about it if she said yes.

“Not physically.”

“I’m sorry,” he said lamely.

“Not your fault.”

They didn’t get the chance to wallow in their failure, however, as Frank and another guard stepped into the room.  “Okay everybody, let’s go!  Sister Jude wants everyone to get an extra good night’s sleep, so the common room is closing early!”  When people didn’t move fast enough for his liking, Frank clapped his hands sharply.   “C’mon, let’s go!  Up and at ‘em!  Move your feet!  Let’s go!”

“Something’s happening,” he said.

“Yeah, another one of Sister Jude’s power trips is what’s happening.  It’s barely seven!”

“No, that’s not it.”

Before Shelley could respond, they were ushered out the door.

The orderlies were gruffer than usual which, along with the sudden change in the schedule, agitated many of the other patients.  They shouted and struggled, milling about in a disorganized mess.  It was almost a relief when he was shoved into his cell. 

Almost.

As soon as everyone settled down, and quiet was restored, he had nothing to focus on but the sense of unease that plagued him.  What had been a faint hum had begun to grow.  He could feel the power in the air, like lightning before it struck.  There was no doubt left in his mind.  Magic was here.  In this world.  In this building. 

And not just any magic.  It wasn’t fairy magic, or the kind dabbled in by human sorcerers.  It was ancient, dark magic.  Like his.

He couldn’t sleep.  Not with the air crackling.  Not when the humming grew to buzzing, and the buzzing became ringing that rose in pitch and intensity until he had to cover his ears in a vain attempt to block it out. 

It built to a crescendo and, when it reached its peak, the lights that had been left on to illuminate the hallway flickered and died in a shower of sparks.  For a moment, there was complete silence.  No soft hum of electricity.  No thrum of magical power.  Then the door began to shake, rattling in its frame as if the earth was quaking.  The quaking stopped, and the door swung open.  He could hear the click of doors unlocking up and down the hallway, and then a low siren began to blare in time with a pulsating crimson light.

He remained huddled on his cot until he saw Kit hurry past his door.  The sight of someone else attempting to escape, for surely that was what Kit was intending, jolted him into action.  Standing, he made his way to the door.  Looking out, he could see other patients, but no orderlies.  Now was his chance.

Moving as quickly as his ankle would allow, he trailed after Kit.  He seemed to have some idea of where he was going, so following him was as good a plan as any.  Along the way, he came across Shelley. 

“I think Kit might know of a way out of here,” he told her.

“Well then let’s go!” 

They followed him at a discreet distance, stopping just within hearing range when Kit paused to peer down a side hall.  “Grace!”

“Come on, Lana knows the way out,” he heard Grace say.

“No!  He can’t come with us,” Lana said.

“I read what you wrote about me.  I’m not a killer or a psychopath,” Kit said, disappearing out of Rumpelstiltskin’s sight as he walked towards the women. 

“You’re a liar, get away from us!” Lana said again.

“This is trouble,” Shelley said.

“Yes,” he agreed. 

“They’re wasting time!  Let’s just go and make them tell us where the way out is.”

“No, wait.  Let them sort out their disagreement, first.”

“I’m not leaving without him,” Grace said.

“I’m not letting him loose so he can kill again,” Lana shot back.

“You’re wrong.  We’ll go find the way out ourselves,” Grace said impatiently.

“Finally!” Shelley said.  “Let’s go tell them we’re tagging along.”

She grabbed his hand, grinning.  He smiled back, and was about to take a step when Lana began to scream.  “Help!  He’s escaping!  The killer is escaping!  Help!  In the hallway!  He’s trying to get out!”

“What does she think she’s doing?” Shelley hissed.

He shook his head helplessly, pulling her into a dark room.  Within moments of Lana’s alarm, a group of orderlies rushed by on their way to apprehend the would-be escapees, too distracted to take notice of them.

“We need to get back to our cells,” Shelley whispered.  “Escape attempts earn you twenty lashes.”

He punched the wall in frustration.  For one foolish moment, he had allowed himself to get his hopes up.  “We were so close!”

“I know, but now that the guards are on alert, we’d never make it.”

“I know.”

“Hey, like you said earlier, we’ll find another way.”

“Yeah.”

“We will.”

“Let’s just get back to our cells before we’re caught.”

By some miracle, they were able to sneak past the patrolling orderlies without being stopped.  Most of them had their hands full with less cooperative patients, which helped considerably.  They reached the women’s ward first, and Shelley returned to her cell with one final promise to come up with another plan.  He continued on to the men’s ward and slipped back into his cell. 

He sat on his cot and took a deep, shaky breath. 

He had failed. 

Again.

He was still trapped in this godsforsaken place.

His boy was still alone.

And the humming had returned.


	5. Once Upon a Time

“Have you spoken to Baelfire, yet?” Rumpelstiltskin asked the next day, at the start of his session with Dr. Thredson. 

“I haven’t had the opportunity,” Thredson said.  “I was here for most of the night, helping with a patient.”

“Jed?”

Thredson didn’t answer.  He didn’t have to.  The look of surprise that flit across his face before he could hide it was answer enough.

“What happened here, last night?” Rumpelstiltskin pressed.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged.  “I’ll just ask Jed, then.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Thredson sighed, removing his eyeglasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Jed Potter is dead.”

“No he’s not,” Rumpelstiltskin said, with certainty.

“I pronounced him dead, myself.  What makes you think otherwise?”

Rumpelstiltskin lifted a hand, fingers fluttering restlessly.  “There’s magic here.  I can feel it.”

“That’s impossible.  You yourself said that this is a world without magic, remember?”

“I seem to have been mistaken about that.  There is magic here, now.  The boy brought it in with him.”

“Show me.”

“What?”

“You claim to be a sorcerer.  If there is magic here, it stands to reason that you would be able to use it, does it not?”

“I can’t,” he reluctantly admitted.

Thredson nodded, looking unsurprised.  “Here’s my theory.  You overheard Sister Jude and the Monsignor discussing Jed Potter’s case.  You knew they planned an exorcism for last night, and you wanted to believe.  You wanted to believe that some supernatural force had entered Briarcliff.  You wanted to believe that it brought magic with it.  To you, magic is power.  So you dreamed up this new scenario, because you feel powerless, and having magic would allow you to feel like you’re in control of your life once more.  But the fact of the matter is that there is no magic here.  Jed was nothing more than an ordinary, albeit disturbed, young man.”

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, about to argue, but Thredson cut him off.

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss what I’ve said.  Clinging to this delusion won’t do you any favors.  You need to develop real strategies for getting your life back in order, not more fantasies.” 

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

The day after, Thredson began the session with a simple, “I spoke with your son.”

At his words, Rumpelstiltskin perked up, leaning forward intently.  “How is he?  Did he look well?  Have they been feeding him enough?  He didn’t look as if he’d been in any fights, did he?  He wouldn’t start one, but he’d defend himself if he was being harassed.”

“No, he looked well.  He was perfectly healthy and unharmed.  I told you that you needn’t worry about that.”

“I’m his father,” he said with a small shrug.  It was his job to worry, was it not?  “So,” he pressed.  “What did he say?”

“He backed up your claim.  He painted a darker picture of events than you did, but the basic story was the same.”

“So you believe us, then?”  When Thredson didn’t immediately answer, he frowned.  “You do believe us, don’t you?”

Thredson answered his question with a question of his own.  “Are you familiar with the concept of folie à deux?”

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin said warily.  “Why?”

“It’s a condition in which two people share a common psychosis.  It typically originates with one person, and then is picked up by the other.  It’s rare, but….”

“You still think I’m crazy!”  He tried to keep the anger from creeping into his voice, but it was a losing battle.  “You think I drove Baelfire insane!  Why would I do such a thing to my own son?” 

“I’m not suggesting that it was intentional.”

“That makes it better?” he sneered.

“If it helps, it’s likely that his symptoms will resolve themselves on their own, in the absence of the principal.”

“What does that mean?” Rumpelstiltskin asked slowly, suspicious that he already knew the answer.

Thredson hesitated, as if he was having difficulty coming up with the best way to phrase his answer.

“What does that mean?” Rumpelstiltskin repeated, harsher this time.

“You want what’s best for your son, correct?”

Rumpelstiltskin surged to his feet.  “You are not going to take my son away from me!”

“Think about…”

He jabbed a finger at him.  “No!  You are not going to keep me from my son!  I will get out of this place, with or without your help!  I will find a way!”

He turned and left before he could do something he would be made to regret, and headed for the common room.  It wasn’t very crowded.  Rumor had it that Kit was still in the infirmary after having volunteered to take not only his punishment for the failed escape attempt, but Grace’s as well.  Lana had been making herself scarce, which seemed like a good idea, judging by the murderous resolve on Grace’s face when she looked up at his entrance.  Seeing that it was only him, she turned her attention back to her cigarette.  Shelley took one look at his face, and moved over to make room for him on the couch. 

“What happened?” she asked as he sat.

“You were right,” he told her grimly.

“I was?”

“Dr. Thredson isn’t interested in helping me.  Bae told him the same thing I did, the exact same thing, and do you know what he thinks?  He thinks I’m insane, and that I somehow gave it to my boy, as if insanity is something that can be spread like a pox!”

“I’m sorry.”

He scoffed, brushing her words off with a flick of his hand.  “Are you?  You’re the one who said this would happen.”

“Hey!  I’m not happy about it!”

“Of course not,” he said dismissively, and moved to stand.  It was a bad idea to come here in his current mood.  She was faster, swinging a leg over his to straddle him and keep him in place.

“I have been on your side since the very beginning,” she said, poking him in the chest.  “I don’t appreciate you treating me like this!”

“Shelley, is a little decorum really too much to ask of you?” Sister Jude asked as she approached them, grabbing her by the upper arm and dragging her off of him.

Shelley stepped back with a flippant toss of her head.  “Yes.”

Sister Jude pinned her with an unamused glare, before turning her attention to him.  “Dr. Thredson tells me that you stormed out of your session.”  It wasn’t a question, and she went on without a reply from him.  “Now I want you to listen, because I’m only going to say this once.  I have neither the time nor the inclination to address all the trivial complaints he insists on interrupting my day with.  So from now on, you are going to go to your sessions, you are going to stay until you are dismissed, and you are going to be on your best behavior while you’re there, or there will be consequences.”

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

“I have something that I think might help you begin to come to terms with reality.”

Dr. Thredson pushed something across to desk to him.  Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, sliding it closer.  It was a large, leather bound book.  Emblazoned across the front cover, in ornate gold lettering, was the title: Once Upon a Time.

Rumpelstiltskin looked back up at Thredson, unimpressed.  “A storybook?  Really?”

“Yes.  It belongs to Sister Mary Eunice.  She’s the one who thought you might benefit from reading the book, actually.”

“And you agree?”

“Yes.  It’s a comprehensive collection.  You’ll find all of the well-known fairy tales retold in those pages, though some of them do differ considerably from the stories I remember.  But do you know what you won’t find, in that book?”

“No, but I gather you’re going to tell me.”

Thredson smiled thinly at his words.  “You won’t find any mention of Rumpelstiltskin there or in any of the more traditional compilations, either.  Don’t you think that, if what you believe is true, you’d be mentioned?  Wouldn’t your story be told?”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned.  Wouldn’t it?  If nothing else, he was responsible for stopping the Ogre War.  That should have earned him a story of his own, if the history of his world was nothing more than children’s stories in this one, shouldn’t it have?

He opened the book and began leafing through the pages, checking to see if what Thredson said was true.  He skimmed through stories, and the illustrations that accompanied them, searching for his name or likeness. 

He paused when he came to a picture of a spinning wheel in a room full of bundles of straw.  He glanced at the title: The Miller’s Daughter.  Curiously, for he couldn’t understand how the picture related to the name, he read on.  It was a grim tale that seemed to serve no purpose other than as a warning against excessive pride.  The miller’s daughter, her dignity wounded by the mocking of a cruel king, had boasted that she was far wealthier and powerful than he, despite her common blood.  When challenged on her claim, she insisted that she could spin straw into gold.  Upon hearing this, the king offered her a deal.  If she could spin a room full of straw into gold by sunrise, she would win the hand of the king’s son in marriage.  If she could not, she would die.  When she refused to back down from the challenge, she was locked in a room in the tallest tower with nothing but the wheel and the straw, and no way to escape.  In the end, her boast turned out to be nothing more than empty words.  Come sunrise, the straw was still only straw, and the girl was summarily executed.

“Pity,” he said, as he finished reading.

Thredson, who had been patiently watching him, tilted his head in question.

“I actually can spin gold.  Or I could, back home.  I like her spiritedness.  I would have helped her win that wager, if our paths had crossed.”

“You can spin straw into gold, now?  That’s new.”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned at the hint of doubt he detected in Thredson’s tone.  “It didn’t seem relevant to mention, before now.”

Thredson said no more, and Rumpelstiltskin returned his attention to the book.  Story after story proved that Thredson was correct.  He could find no mention of himself anywhere.  There was another story featuring a spinning wheel, but it was titled Sleeping Beauty.  He couldn’t imagine it having anything to do with him, and so he didn’t bother reading.  It sounded incredibly dull, anyway.

He came across the story Shelley had mentioned, about Red Riding Hood, but it was nothing like the story she had told him.  Instead of Red being threatened by the wolf, she was the wolf.  He grinned.  He’d have to tell Shelley this version, he was certain she’d like it better. 

One page had a picture of a pirate ship.  He frowned and skipped the story without even glancing at the title.  The ship reminded him far too much of the one captained by Killian Jones.  He didn’t need that reminder, right now.

He grew more and more frustrated as he failed to find anything pertaining to himself.  He rifled through the pages, hardly glancing at some of them, until he came to one particular page that caught his attention.  He found himself staring down at the image of a young woman with stunningly blue eyes.  Thorny, blood red roses formed a border around the page, which declared the title of this particular tale to be Beauty and the Beasts.  The illustrations throughout the book were beautiful, but there was something about this one in particular that really captured his attention.  It wasn’t just that she lived up to her titled moniker.  There was a soulfulness that shined in those eyes.  It was as if she was staring right back at him from the page, drawing him in. 

He began to read.

Once upon a time, there lived a merchant king whose lands and holdings were being threatened by an invading army of Ogres.  The king had no sons, only one daughter: Belle.  She was known for her beauty, and her bravery, and her cleverness.  Her father would do anything to protect her.

Knowing that there was no way he could ever hope to turn back the Ogres on his own, the king sought help from neighboring kingdoms, from witches, from wizards.  He offered all his riches in exchange for aid, no matter how dark the help might be.  But none answered his call.  All seemed lost.  Finally, he did the only thing he could, he sent his daughter away so that she might live.

But Belle could not bear the thought of fleeing to safety while her father and their people suffered and died.  And so she went behind her father’s back.  She visited with the nobles of neighboring lands, imploring their assistance.  She spoke passionately of her cause, reminding them that if they did not stand together now, they would be picked off by the Ogres one by one.  Many who had refused to listen to her father’s pleas soon found themselves lending their support to Belle.  She managed to raise a small army, which she personally led into battle.

They fought valiantly, but in the end, it wasn’t enough.  The Ogres tore through the army.  It was a slaughter.  With no one left to stop them, they swept through the kingdom, destroying everything in their path.  When they reached her father’s castle, they razed it to the ground.

Back on the battlefield, Belle used her dying breath to make one final wish.  She wished upon the Blue Star that her land not be allowed to ever truly die.  She wished that some beauty might remain, indestructible, as a monument to the people who died to protect it.  The Blue Fairy answered her call.  With a wave of the fairy’s wand, Belle disappeared.  In her place, a single rosebush grew.  Dozens of red roses bloomed upon it, forever frozen in eternal perfection.

Rumpelstiltskin stared hard at the book, unblinking, for a long moment.  Then he slammed the book shut with a curse and flung it back across the desk towards Thredson.  Thredson started at the sudden, violent reaction, sliding his chair back to avoid being hit by the book.

“May I ask what triggered that outburst?” Thredson asked, sounding infuriatingly calm for having nearly been assaulted.

“That story!  The Blue Fairy should have intervened sooner.  She could have sprinkled a little fairy dust on the Ogres and made them disappear.  She could have saved an entire kingdom!”

“I want to start off by saying that I think your interest in helping others is a positive thing, though from our discussions thus far, I wonder if that desire stems more from wanting to be perceived as a hero, rather than true altruism.  That’s a discussion for another time, though.  Right now, I want to return to our conversation about magic.  You do realize that, even if magic did exist, it couldn’t possibly be used to fix everything?”

“You’re wrong.”

“I know it’s tempting to believe that all of life’s problems could be solved with a snap of the fingers, but the world does not work that way.”

“You have no idea what magic is capable of!  You don’t even believe in its existence!”

“Alright, for the sake of argument, let me humor the idea that magic is real.  Here’s what I know about it.  I know that magic terrifies your son.  I know that it changed you so drastically that he feared he was losing his father.  I know that he was willing to leave behind everything he had ever known to try and save you from the hold it had over you.  I know that some part of you must have feared what you were becoming, too, because you agreed to give it up.  So I ask you, if magic really is capable of fixing anything, why did it seem to cause more problems for you and your son than it solved?”

Rumpelstiltskin took a deep breath.  He wanted to argue.  He wanted to point out that magic had saved countless of their countrymen from the Ogres.  It had made him wealthy, powerful, and respected.  And it had.  Though to be fair, what he had taken as respect at the time, he could recognize as fear now.  And he couldn’t deny that magic had changed him in ways that weren’t for the better.  If he had felt like the village pariah before he had acquired his powers, it was nothing compared to the isolation he had been subjected to afterwards.  The other villagers had even shied away from Bae, which they had never done before.  He let out the breath he had drawn and shook his head, slumping back in his seat. 

Thredson nodded.  “The point I’m trying to get across is that real change requires real work.  You can’t hope to get what you want through shortcuts and quick fixes.  Are you willing to do the work necessary to see your son again?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

He had left the book in Thredson’s office.

He was quite sure about that.

And yet there it was, as if waiting for him, sitting on the table closest to his usual spot in the common room. 

It was open to the page with the pirate ship.

He sneered and shut the book, sitting.  He glanced around the room.  Everyone seemed to be off in their own little worlds.  A few orderlies were stationed at different spots, keeping an eye on everyone.  Sistet Mary Eunice was the only nun present, standing off to the side, watching him.  She smiled brightly when their eyes met, holding his gaze.  He was the first to look away.  He glanced back to the book.

It was open to the page with the pirate ship.

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets!”

“What?” he demanded, looking up sharply.  The only person close enough to have spoken to him was Spivey, who threw his hands out to his sides.

“What?” Spivey asked.

“What did you just say?”

“I didn’t say nothing.”

“Yes, you did!”

“I said I didn’t say nothing!  You’re hearing things, man.  Better be careful, or they’ll lock you up in the loony bin.”  Spivey laughed at his own joke.

Rumpelstiltskin slammed the book shut.

After a moment, he felt eyes upon him and looked up.  Sister Mary Eunice was still watching him, smiling, as if she had never looked away.  He frowned and looked away, uncomfortable.  “Where’s Shelley?” he asked Spivey, who was still loitering nearby.  He’d feel better with her here to tell him that he was being paranoid and ridiculous.

“Beats me,” Spivey said.  “Probably off screwing someone.”

Rumpelstiltskin glared at him.

“Oooohhhhh, what?” Spivey scoffed at him.  “You jealous?  Or are you still playing at being her knight in shining armor, even though you should know by now she ain’t got no honor for you to defend?”

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head and refused to dignify Spivey’s comments with a response.  His gaze fell once more onto the book.

It was open to the page with the pirate ship.

He clenched his teeth as the memory he had so desperately not wanted to relive invaded his mind.  It was as if he was there once more, onboard that ship.  He could feel the sun beating down on him, smell the salt from the sea, and see the smug smirk on the captain’s face.  Worst of all, he could feel the dread that wrapped itself around his heart as he wondered how he’d ever manage to convince this man to grant him his request.

_“I remember you, from the bar.”_

_Killian’s smirk grew at that.  “It’s always nice to make an impression.  Where are my manners?  We haven’t been formally introduced.  Killian Jones.  Now, what are you doing aboard my ship?”_

_Here it was, the moment of truth.  He mustered up his nerve and said, “Well, uh, you have my wife.”_

_Killian’s grin grew lascivious.  “I’ve had many a man’s wife.”_

_The pirates who had gathered to watch their captain deal with the intruder laughed._

_Flustered, Rumpelstiltskin said, “No, you see, we have a son, and he needs his mother.”  He stumbled over the words, hating how weak the nervous stutter made him sound._

_Killian advanced, leaning in conspiratorially.  “Well, you see, I have a ship full of men who need companionship.”_

_The men in question jeered approvingly._

_Rumpelstiltskin’s heart sank even further.  “I’m begging you, please let her go.”_

_“I’m not much for bartering,” Killian replied.  “That said, I do consider myself an honorable man, a man with a code.  So, if you truly want your wife back…”  Here he paused and nodded to one of his men, who dropped a worn and rusty sword at Rumpelstiltskin’s feet.  “All you have to do is take her,” he finished, as he drew his own sword and pointed it at Rumpelstiltskin._

_Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder slumped in defeat.  He knew he had already lost._

_“Never been in a duel before, I take it?” Killian said.  “It’s quite simple, really.  The pointy end goes in the other guy.”  He was clearly enjoying himself, posturing for his crew, who laughed along with him._

_Rumpelstiltskin could no longer look him in the eye.  What was he to do?  He wasn’t a young man, anymore.  He was crippled.  He had a son he couldn’t leave an orphan.  And that’s certainly what would happen, if he tried to fight.  But to leave Milah to this fate…how could he live with himself?_

_"Go on, pick it up,” Killian prompted again._

_Still he didn’t move.  Killian grew uncharacteristically serious.  “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets,” he warned._

_He could feel his chin quiver.  Oh gods…oh gods, no.  He would not cry.  Not in front of this man.  He couldn’t!_

_Killian looked disgusted as he sheathed his sword and turned, walking away._

_“Please, sir, what am I going to tell my boy?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, finally finding his voice._

_Killian stopped, half turning to look at him.  “Try the truth.  His father’s a coward.”_

_Dismissed with that parting shot, Rumpelstiltskin had, at the time, slunk off the ship and returned home.  It was the longest walk of his life, as he mulled over how to break the news to his son that Milah was gone.  In the end, he had opted to tell Baelfire that his mother was dead.  It was simpler, that way.  It was kinder.  The boy didn’t need to know the gory details.  He wouldn’t understand._

_But he didn’t leave the ship, this time_

_Instead, he found himself unable to fight the compulsion to follow Killian Jones, ghosting through the ship unseen.  It was as if he didn’t exist, for all the attention anyone paid him.  This strange turn of events made him realize that he must be dreaming.  But despite knowing it was a dream, he couldn’t seem to control it, or to wake himself up._

_Killian entered his quarters, and Rumpelstiltskin had no choice but to do the same.  The sight that greeted him made him stop dead.  Milah stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed.  She looked upset, but not afraid.  It was her attire, however, that really captured his attention.  She was dressed as a pirate.  Not one of the grungy crewmembers, but resplendent in silk and leather that rivaled Killian’s own garb._

_Killian paused at the door as he noticed her expression.  “You heard?”  He sounded regretful._

_She nodded.  “I almost couldn’t go through with it.”_

_“What?  Leaving?  If you’re having second thoughts, love…._

_“No, no, not that, and certainly not now, after that pathetic showing of his.  No, I was considering going up there and telling him the truth, instead of letting him believe what you told him.”_

_"What stopped you?”_

_“He did.  He left me here.”  She laughed bitterly._

_“Did you expect otherwise?”_

_“I had hoped…hoped that he would have at least tried to fight for me.  That’s all I have ever hoped for, that he’d stand for something, for once in his life!  All his talk of how he ran from the front not out of cowardice, but for the sake of his family, and see how quickly he abandons even that pretense!”_

_“He’s a fool.”  Killian walked up to her and hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her closer and leaning in to steal a kiss.  “I’d fight to the death if some scoundrel tried to take you from me.”_

_Milah smiled at that, but it was short-lived.  “Are you certain I’m doing the right thing, leaving Bae with him?”_

_“A pirate ship is no place for a boy his age.”_

_She sighed.  “I know.”_

_"_ _And you told me yourself that your husband isn’t a bad father.”_

_"He isn’t,” she admitted reluctantly._

_"_ _Well then, let him grow up with him.  Then someday, when he’s old enough, we’ll return and offer him the chance to come with us.  You know he’ll be welcome here, once he’s able to handle himself.”_

_"_ _What if he hates me, when he finds out the truth?”_

_"_ _He won’t.  You’re his mother.”_

_She looked unconvinced, and Killian sighed.  “You are having second thoughts.  Milah, I don’t want to keep you away from your family if doing so is going to make you miserable.”_

_“I’m more miserable there.  I love Bae, but I can’t go back.”_

_“Because your husband refused to fight for you?”_

_"Because I love you, and I don’t love him.  I don’t think I ever did.”_

_Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t breathe.  Milah’s words rang in his ears as each new revelation lent its weight to crush him.  She had left him of her own free will?  She had willing let him believe that she had suffered at the hands of these men?  He had carried the guilt of that around with him for years!  And how could she have possibly brought herself to abandon their beautiful little boy?  And after doing so, she truly believed that she could someday waltz back into his life and steal him away from the only parent he had ever really known?  Was she mad?_

_But by far the worst, by far the most stinging blow of all, was the claim that she had never loved him._

_And in the center of it all stood Killian Jones, the man behind all these new hurts and indignities.  His rage gave him the strength to break through his dream-induced inertia.  He tackled the man to the ground and began raining down blows.  He took perverse pleasure in the other man’s initial yelp of pained surprise, and even more so when a particularly well aimed punch drew blood._

_"You fucking crazy bastard!”_

_Rumpelstiltskin hesitated, arm drawn back for another strike.  It wasn’t Killian who had spoken.  He blinked..._

He blinked, and looked down into the bloodied, angry face of Spivey.  Before he could say or do anything, Spivey took advantage of his confusion to flip their positions.  “I hope that was worth it, for you,” Spivey said, pinning him to the ground.  “Cause you’re a dead man.” 

Rumpelstiltskin managed to get his arms up to protect his face, blocking Spivey’s first punch.  It did little good.  Spivey pried his arms away and tangled a fist in his hair, slamming his head against the ground.  It stunned him long enough for the other man to wrap his hands around his throat, squeezing.  He was actually trying to kill him!

Rumpelstiltskin struggled, grasping at Spivey’s wrists to try and break his hold, but Spivey was the stronger man.  Before long, his vision narrowed as darkness began to overtake him, and his lungs burned in his chest.  After what seemed like an eternity, the orderlies succeeded in pulling Spivey off of him, and he rolled onto his side as he gasped in a painful gulp of air.  That was a mistake.  Spivey, struggling against the orderlies, kicked out at him.  He managed to catch him just right, knocking the breath right back out of him.  He tried to draw in another, but couldn’t. 

In the end, the darkness won.

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

He awoke in a darkened room, strapped into one of those strange, confining jackets.  It was a small room, bereft of anything save for a bare mattress shoved up against the wall.  The only light was what little managed to trickle in through the grate in the door from the hallway beyond.  The walls were dark brick, windowless, and it was cold, lacking the artificial warmth that was pumped into some of the more inhabited areas of the asylum.

Slowly, he nudged the mattress into the center of the cell, the only place the meager light could illuminate.  Immediately, he wished he hadn’t.  It was a lumpy, misshapen thing, riddled with a variety of stains that he’d rather not think about.  Nevertheless, he dropped himself gracelessly onto it.  It was better than the bare floor.

Soon, the boredom and monotony got the better of him, and he drifted off to sleep.  But he slept poorly, waking frequently in the night.  At least, he assumed it was night.  Within the confines of the dark cell, it was always night.

He had dreamt, but could hardly recall what the dream had been about.  He could only recollect brief snippets.  There had been a figure: tall, regal, with wind-tousled hair the color of flame and armor that shined so brightly that it was almost painful to look upon.  That figure had inspired a feeling of fierce confidence.  He could recall the sounding of trumpets, the clash of swords.  And then there was a sense of falling…falling….

He had woken with a jolt.

Now here he was, huddled in the center of the cell with nothing to occupy him but his own thoughts.

“I know you; I walked with you once upon a dream…”

At first, he thought he was imagining things.  Who would be singing through the halls of solitary?  The guards wouldn’t allow that, would they?

“I know you; the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam…”

No, he wasn’t imagining it. There was somebody out there, and they were drawing closer to his cell.

“Yes, I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem…”

The singing paused, replaced by the clinking of the door unlocking. 

“But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…”

The door swung open, revealing the silhouette of Sister Mary Eunice.  She stepped into the cell, grinning down at him.  “What’s it like?” she asked.

“What’s what like?”

“The Enchanted Forest.  Everyone running around, singing their feelings.  I think that’s brilliant!  Do you miss it?”

He frowned up at her, bemused.  “People don’t actually sing about their feelings, there.”

The smile slipped right off her face.  “Disney lied to us?  How disappointing.  I can’t imagine Aurora and Philip meeting any other way.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“You’ve never heard of Princess Aurora and Prince Philip?”

He shook his head.

“Maleficent?  She’d be more your ilk.  Surely you’ve at least heard of her?”

He shook his head again.

She sighed.  “They must be after your time.”  Her expression turned stony, and her usually blue eyes glinted gold, glowing dully in the scant light.  With a sharp flick of her wrist, he was jerked to his feet and held there by some unseen force.  He bit back a gasp at the unexpected display of power.  “Which is unfortunate, because there was never supposed to _be_ an after your time!” 

She began to pace before him.  “It’s bad enough that I have to put up with Moloch encroaching into my territory whenever the mood strikes him.  Had I realized that the veil between Neverland and this world was so thin, I never would have sent him there.  But at least he keeps his visits brief and to the point.  You, on the other hand, come traipsing into this world as if you mean to take up permanent residence, in clear defiance of our arrangement!”  She shook her head in annoyance.  “I don’t know why I’m so surprised, really.  You were always too distracted by shiny things to keep your eye on the real prize, weren’t you?  What trinket were you chasing after, this time?  What could possibly have been so important that you would return here when you were under orders to remain in the world I sent you to?”

“My son,” he answered, understanding little else of her tirade.  “You’re…you’re Jed.  Or rather, you’re the thing that was inside of Jed.”

“Thing?  That’s how you choose to address me?  You’re already treading on dangerous ground, a little respect wouldn’t hurt.”

“How should I address you?  I don’t even know who or what you are.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

He glanced pointedly down at himself, doubly bound by the straitjacket and her magic.  “I don’t really think I’m in a position to be joking, do you?”

She stepped closer to him, staring hard into his eyes.  Whatever she saw there made her shake her head with a wry little laugh.  “Well this complicates things.  I’m sorry, Rumpelstiltskin, was it?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t the one I want to talk to.  Be a good boy and go away.”  She jabbed him in the chest with a finger, directly over his heart.  A bolt of dark magic coursed through him, receiving an answering thrum from deep within.  The Dark One stirred.  He could feel the curse try to reestablish its hold over him, the magic seeping into his veins.  It felt just as it had in those moments after he had stabbed Zoso, an odd mix of terror and exhilaration. 

“No!”  He thought of Bae.  Of how disappointed he would be if he gave in to the temptation of power again, became what he had been, what his boy had so desperately sought to run away from.  He wasn’t going to make that same mistake twice.  All was not lost, here.  He didn’t need magic to get out of this place, just a little more time and patience.

 Sister Mary Eunice pulled back as if burned, and the Dark One settled back into the darkest recesses of his heart and mind, a slumbering dragon once more.  “What is this?” she asked angrily. 

“I’m not letting him take over my life.  Not again.”

The anger remained etched onto her face for just a moment longer, but then she laughed.  “Oh, aren’t you precious.  I think it’s adorable that you think you have a choice.  Go ahead, defy me all you like.  It won’t last.  I’ve got all the time in the world to enjoy making your life here a living hell.”

“Do you?  What if I were to tell Sister Jude about you?”

Sister Mary Eunice blinked and her eyes became blue once more.  She stepped back and smiled.  It was the innocent smile of her old self.  “Oh, but you’re sick,” she said, her voice filled with heartfelt concern.  “Who would ever believe you?”

She waved her hand, and the magic that had been holding him upright dissipated.  His ankle gave way under the weight it was suddenly expected to bear without warning, and he collapsed back onto the mattress. 

“Enjoy the rest of your stay in solitary,” she said brightly, leaving the cell and locking the door behind her.


	6. Tempest Tossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer for those of you who are familiar with AHS: Asylum - Yes, there is quite a bit of dialogue in this chapter that was shamelessly stolen from Nor’easter. I couldn’t help it; it was a wonderfully quotable episode. For those of you not familiar with Asylum: Enjoy this chapter that is chock-full of dialogue you haven’t heard before!
> 
> Trigger Warning – This chapter contains a rape scene (attempted rape, though the way it is written makes things vague on that front due to POV issues) in the last section of the chapter. It’s as non-graphic as possible, but be warned.

In the end, according to the orderlies, he was only in solitary for about a day and a half. 

They came to his cell and removed the straitjacket, before tossing one of those infernal open-backed gowns at him and ordering him to change.  Once that was out of the way, they bound his hands in front of him and escorted him up to Sister Jude’s office.

A similarly attired Spivey was already there, standing before the desk.  He hesitated at the door when he saw him, but the orderly prodded him forward until he was standing next to him.  Spivey didn’t say anything to him, or even look at him.  Of course, Sister Jude was sitting behind the desk, studying them reprovingly, which no doubt contributed to his silence.

“Which one of you wants to explain what happened?” Sister Jude demanded of them.  She looked to him, first. 

He dropped his gaze, shaking his head.  “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’ll tell you what happened, Sister.  I was minding my own business when the little creep sucker punched me!”

He chanced a glance up as Sister Jude’s gaze swiveled back to him.  “Does that jog your memory?”

Hunching his shoulders, he explained, “I didn’t mean to attack him.”

“Then just who _did_ you mean to attack?”  
  
“No one.  I…I thought I was dreaming.”

“Hmm, that does seem to be a recurring theme with you, your apparent inability to distinguish fantasy from reality.  Perhaps a taste of the cane will encourage you to try harder to separate the two, in the future.”

He could feel himself flush at the mention of caning, no more comfortable with the idea of such punishment being administered by a woman now than he was when Shelley first mentioned it. 

“Can I go, then, Sister?” Spivey asked hopefully.

“No, you cannot.  This is the second fight you’ve gotten into in as many weeks.  You abused the clemency I showed you, last time.  I won’t make that same mistake again.  Ten strokes each.”

He watched as she walked over to a cabinet set off to the side of the desk and opened the doors.  At least half a dozen rattan canes of various sizes were lined up within.  She chose one from the middle of the lot, and returned to the desk.  Looking to him once more, she laughed shortly.  “I’m sure this kicked puppy look of yours has garnered you the sympathy of more than one woman, over the years.  Unfortunately for you, it won’t win you any leniency here.  You first,” she told him.

One of the orderlies shoved him forward, bending him over the desk.  He could feel the two sides of the gown part, leaving him exposed.  It was every bit as humiliating as he feared.  He embarrassed himself even further by flinching at the first light touch of the cane against his backside, as Sister Jude measured where the first stroke would land. 

He held his breath as the cane was pulled back.  There was a low whistle as it cut through the air, followed by a sharp smack as it made contact.  He heard it a split second before he felt it, the sound making him flinch right before the searing pain made him release the breath he was holding with a hiss.

The second stroke followed closely on the heels of the first.  He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, all his concentration turning towards maintaining as much of his dignity as he could. 

The caning continued at a brisk pace, each blow falling at regular intervals.  At least Sister Jude didn’t believe in drawing it out unnecessarily.  The first five were spaced evenly, each one falling just below the last, with practiced precision.  He bore them fairly stoically, each earning no more than a stifled grunt.

The final five were worse than the first, as she deliberately laid each new stripe over the old ones.  He forced himself to keep still, but staying silent was more difficult.  She managed to draw a whimper or two from him, despite his best efforts. 

When it was over, the orderly hauled him back upright, making him wince.  Gods, it felt like he was aflame, and he couldn’t stop the trembling that had started up at some point.  “Take him to the infirmary, have them look him over,” Sister Jude told the orderly dismissively, not even bothering to address him further.

She had already turned her attention to Spivey by the time the orderly moved to comply with her command.

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

Shelley cornered him shortly after he was released from the infirmary, wordlessly ushering him into the nearest storage room, before turning and looking him over.

“God, Rumpel!  Let me see.”  Shelley tapped his chin, and he raised it, giving her a clear view of the livid bruises Spivey’s fingers had left behind.  “Those look terrible.”

“It looks worse than it is,” he told her.

She nodded, looking relieved.  “Well that’s something.  Does it hurt?”

“Not much, no,” he said, not really wanting to broadcast what did.  Of course, he should have known he didn’t have to, as she proved to be as savvy as ever.  
  
“Good,” she said, delivering a hard, stinging slap to his posterior, aggravating his welts.

“Ow!  What the hell was that for?”

“What were you thinking?” she yelled at him.  “You pick a fight with Spivey, of all people?  He could have snapped you in two!  You’re lucky you weren’t seriously hurt!”

Despite himself, he smiled.  That only served to rile her further.  “It’s not funny!”  
  
“I know it’s not.  I’m sorry I worried you.”

Her expression softened at his apology.  “Just don’t do it again.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“What made you go after him, in the first place?  That’s not like you.”

“I didn’t.  Not intentionally, anyway.  I was dreaming.  I didn’t realize it was him.”  


“I didn’t know you were a sleepwalker.”

“Nor did I.”

  
“That must have been one hell of a dream.”

He hummed noncommittally.

“You want to talk about it?”

No, he most certainly did not want to talk about it.  Just being asked if he wanted to talk was making all those feelings of anger, humiliation, and rejection rise to the surface.  He wanted to believe that it had been a meaningless dream, but he knew better.  He knew he had been shown a vision of what had really taken place on that ship.  Well, he had already mourned the loss of Milah once.  He damn well wasn’t going to let her have any more control over his feelings, now that he knew the truth.

Shelley picked up on his reluctance.  “We don’t have to talk,” she said, moving in and pressing her lips to his.  It was gentle, a question instead of a demand, so unlike the forwardness of their first encounter.  He didn’t push her away, this time. 

Encouraged, she deepened the kiss, and he returned it eagerly.  Why had he been so resistant, before?  This was nice.  She wanted him.  No one had ever wanted him, before.  He thought Milah had, once upon a time, before he had been called to the front, before the seer’s prophecy changed his life forever, before he had been branded a coward and was forced to watch helplessly as whatever affection she may have once had for him withered and died.  But that had been a lie, hadn’t it?  She had never loved him.  She said so herself.

Shelley put a hand to his chest, breaking the kiss, and his dark train of thought along with it.  “Stop thinking so loudly,” she chastised him lightly. 

“Sorry.”

She gave him a fond smile, before pulling him back to her.  As their lips met a second time, he did as she asked.  He pushed all thoughts aside, focusing on the present.  The emotional sting of Milah’s words faded along with the physical sting of his welts, until they were nothing more than background noise. 

He trailed a series of light kisses down her neck.  “Mmm, you okay with this, even though it’s not True Love?” she asked.

He pulled back enough to look at her.  “True Love is a rare thing.  I care about you.”

She smiled.  “And I care about you.  I think you’re my only real friend in this place.”

“That’s enough,” he decided.

Some mattresses were stacked in a corner of the room.  She led him to them and sprawled out, pulling him down atop her.  “It’s more than enough,” she agreed.

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

“Must we have a session, today?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, after being summoned to Dr. Thredson’s office.  His time spent with Shelley had been a welcome distraction from reality, but it had closed right back in on him the moment they had left that storage room. 

“Not a full session, no, but recent events have made it clear that we need to step up your treatment.”

“Bring in all the fairy tale books you like, it’s not….”

Thredson held up a small bottle.  He shook it gently, making it rattle.  “Trifluoperazine.  I’m starting you on two milligrams twice daily.”

He frowned and shook his head.  “I’m not taking that.”

“This is not a matter that is up for debate.”

“I don’t need it.”

“It’s an antipsychotic.”

“I’m not psychotic.”

“It has anxiolytic properties, as well.  You need it.”

“No, thank you.”

“It comes in an injectable form, if you prefer.”

Rumpelstiltskin glared at him and held out his hand for the bottle.  Instead, Thredson opened the bottle and shook one tablet out into his hand before pushing a small paper cup full of water across the desk to him.  He downed the pill with a swallow of water, and Thredson nodded, satisfied.

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

The next morning, they were made to stand outside their cells while Carl and Frank went down the hall, searching rooms.

“Room check,” Sister Jude explained, as she and Sister Mary Eunice waited with a clipboard, writing down infractions.

“You’d be shocked at the kinds of things patients hoard in their rooms,” Sister Mary Eunice told him conversationally, as his cell was searched.  “Oh look, they found something.”  She could not have sounded less surprised if she had tried, and he frowned at her, wondering what her game was.

Carl walked out, a leather cord looped over his finger.  He held it up.  Dangling from the cord were two tags made from what looked like thick felt, one green, the other red.  “You military?” he asked him, looking skeptical.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Sister Jude asked, before he could answer Carl.  She took the cord, studying the tags.  “Rucker.  R.  Service number?”

She looked at Carl for confirmation, who nodded.  “Looks like.”

“And RC,” Sister Jude finished reading.

“I knew he ought to have known a proper Catholic prayer!” Sister Mary Eunice spoke up.  They all looked at her, and she motioned towards the tags.  “RC: Roman Catholic.”

Sister Jude brandished the tags at him with a smile.  “I have a feeling the police are going to find this very useful.  I had heard they’d hit a wall when it came to ferreting out your identity, but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for much longer.”

He looked to Sister Mary Eunice once more.  What was this supposed to prove?  She just smiled placidly back at him.  “Why are you looking at her?  I’m the one talking to you,” Sister Jude snapped.

“I don’t know what those are,” he said, looking back to Sister Jude.  “I’ve never seen them before.”

“So you’re claiming they aren’t yours?”

“They’re not.”

Her smile grew unpleasant.  “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”  She tightened her fist around the tags and moved on to the next room.

Sister Mary Eunice stepped closer to him, keeping her eyes on Sister Jude.  “It’s not too late, you know,” she told him quietly.

“It’s not too late for what?”

“What do you think?  To submit to and serve me, of course.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“You say that now, but….”

He sighed.  “But what?”

“But if you don’t, they’re going to find out who you really are.”

“There isn’t anything for them to find.  I’m Rumpelstiltskin, of the Enchanted Forest.”

“Are you certain?”

“Who else would I be?”

“The owner of those dog tags, Rabbie Rucker,” she said, imitating his accent. She let the accent drop, and finished, “And I’m sorry to say that he has been a very naughty boy.”  She smiled darkly.  “You’ll never get out of here without my blessing.”

“You couldn’t possibly have fabricated an entire life for me.  Not one that will stand up to any kind of scrutiny.”

“Oh, who said anything about fabricating anything?  As I said, are you certain you know who you are?”

He frowned.  “That’s not going to work.”

“What?”  
  
“Trying to make me doubt myself, it’s not going to work.”

“Well, in the words of Sister Jude, we’ll see about that.”

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

It was a quiet evening, or as quiet as evening ever got in the common room.  Dominique drifted through the air in its constant loop.  Most of the patients were engaged in some quiet activity, pacing, or rocking themselves to wind down before lights out.  The Mexican was twirling slowly through the room, as she often did.  He wondered idly if she ever got tired of that.  He’d consider asking, but in addition to the language barrier, she always gave him a wide berth.  He still wasn’t certain why she had taken an instant dislike to him, but she clearly had.

He sat with Shelley, idly doodling while she read a book.  He had no talent for art.  That was something he had always envied a bit about Bae and Milah.  But aptitude didn’t matter, here, as the dubious attempts of the other patients that were strewn across the table could attest to, and it passed the time.   

After a while, Shelley glanced over at his paper and then up to him.  “That has kind of a surrealist feel to it.  I like it.”

He looked at her skeptically, before taking a closer look at what he had been sketching.  If he squinted, he had to admit that it looked like a city, full of impossibly large domes and looming spires built around a central, foreboding palace.  The entire thing was twisted and distorted, an architectural nightmare.  He chalked that up to his lack of skill combined with the mild but noticeable fuzzy-headedness he had been feeling all day. 

“You should keep it,” Shelley went on.  “What are you going to call it?”

Something niggled at the back of his mind, a name for his imaginary city.  A reply was on the tip of his tongue when Sister Mary Eunice swept into the room and turned off the music.  Raising her voice, she addressed the room at large. 

“Sister Jude has asked me to make an announcement,” she began, looking around the room to make sure she had everyone’s attention.  “There’s a big storm heading our way.  When it hits, half of you are going to be too afraid to move, and the other half won’t be able to stop moving.  It would be chaos, and that won’t do.  So, Sister Jude has arranged for a distraction: a movie on Friday night when the storm will be at its worst.  We’re all going to be together in the dark, watching The Sign of the Cross, a movie full of fire, sex, and the death of Christians.”  Her eyes had scanned the crowd slowly as she spoke, finally settling on him for a moment.  She didn’t quite smile, but he could recognize the malicious glee dancing in her eyes for what it was.  “What fun.”

He wondered, during her announcement, how no one seemed to notice how different she was from her former self.  But then he saw how the Mexican was looking at her.  There was fear in her eyes, even more than she seemed to hold for him.  When Sister Mary Eunice turned to leave, he stood to follow her. 

“Hey, where’re you going?” Shelley asked, but he waved off her question without looking back.

“Aléjate, Satanás!” he was close enough to hear the Mexican say as the Sister passed her.  “Aléjate!”  She sounded terrified.

Sister Mary Eunice moved as if to confront the Mexican, and the older woman recoiled.  Smirking, she continued on towards the door.  He caught up to her before she could leave.  “Have you changed your mind, then?” she asked.  “If you have, I have a job for you.”

“No, I haven’t changed my mind.”

“That’s a shame.  The Mexican needs to be dealt with.  I suppose I’ll have to do it myself.”

“Dealt with?”

“Don’t play innocent.  You know what I mean.  She Sees.  She’s a threat to us.”

“She’s a Seer?”  Before Sister Mary Eunice could respond, he turned and headed for the Mexican.  If she was a Seer, maybe she could help him.  Maybe she could tell him what he needed to do to reunite with Bae. 

She tensed when she noticed him approach, backing away.  “Aléjate, Mammón!”

“What?  No,” he said, holding up his hands to show he wasn’t a threat.  “I mean you no harm.  I just want to ask you a question.”

“No, no, no,” she repeated, shaking her head.

“Please, just listen to what I have to say!”

“No!  Aléjate!”  She had her necklace, her rosary as he had learned it was called, wrapped around her hand, and she flung it out towards him now, dangling the crucifix in front of his face as if she expected it to frighten him away. 

Exasperated, he grabbed her wrist, keeping her in place, as she had begun to back away again.  “If you would just….”

She began to scream.

The guards were there in seconds.  He let go of her wrist as Frank got in his face.  “Back off!”

“I was just….”

“I said back off!” Frank ordered again, hand going to rest on his nightstick.

He did as he was told, and Frank walked him back to his table, shoving him down into the chair.  “What the hell’s wrong with you, huh?  You like hurting women?”

“No,” he said, affronted.  “Of course not.”

“No?  What was that, then?”  
  
“I didn’t hurt her!  I just wanted to ask her a question, but she won’t talk to me.”

“What’d you expect?  She doesn’t speak English.”

“I thought I’d try.  It was important.”  
  
“Well, she obviously doesn’t want you near her.  You bother her again, you deal with me, got it?”

Frustrated, Rumpelstiltskin nodded his understanding.

“I’m watching you,” Frank said.  He walked away, but true to his word he didn’t go far, and he kept glancing in Rumpelstiltskin’s direction.

“What was that about, with the Mexican?” Shelley asked after a moment.

“Ana,” he corrected her.

“Who’s Ana?”

“The Mexican, that’s her name.”

“How do you know that?  Did Sister Mary Eunice tell you?”

“No,” he said.  When he had let her go, his hand had brushed the rosary, and he had simply known, in a flash of insight.  Ana Lucia De La Cruz.  Cursed with the Sight.  Thanks to her visions, she had been deemed unstable, a danger to herself, and was locked away.  That rosary was the only thing in this world that she had left to call her own, more precious to her than gold.

“Then how did you…”

“It’s not important.  I thought…it doesn’t matter.  I shouldn’t have approached her.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t seem to like you very much, does she?”

He laughed bitterly.  “Indeed not.”

“Are you at least going to tell me what you were in such a hurry to talk to the Sister about?”

“Don’t trust her.”

“Sister Mary Eunice?”

“Yes.  She’s not what she seems.  Don’t call attention to yourself around her, don’t agree to do her any favors and don’t ask for any, and don’t go anywhere alone with her.  Just stay away from her completely, if you can.”

“Are we talking about the same Sister Mary Eunice?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve met marshmallows scarier than her.”

“I assure you, you have not.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but then sighed, shaking her head.  “Fine.  It’s no use trying to argue with you when you get all earnest like this.  I’ll avoid her like the plague.  Happy?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She smiled.  “But I’m not going to have to for long.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because when you went to go talk to Sister Mary Eunice, I overheard Kit and Grace talk about trying another escape attempt.”

“So soon after the last one?”

“That’s the point, actually.  They don’t think anyone will be expecting it.  Tomorrow night, when everyone’s distracted by the movie and the storm can cover their tracks.  That’s when it’s happening.”

“Do you think they’ll be alright with us going with them?”

She shrugged.  “I plan to talk to Grace about it tomorrow, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

“Well?” he asked when he saw Shelley next.  Her face didn’t immediately give anything away, which made him nervous.  But then she broke out into a small grin, giving him a thumbs up, and he relaxed, smiling back. 

“I have one question,” he said.  “My things were taken from me, when I came here.  They can keep most of it, for all I care, but there is one thing I need.  Do you know where our belongings are kept?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you.”

She led him to a storage room, not unlike the one they had occupied a few days prior.  Shelves lined the walls, with boxes stacked in rows upon them.  Each box was labeled with a name and date. 

It didn’t take long for him to find the box with his things, since he was one of the newest patients.  He removed the lid and pulled out his overcoat.  Behind him, Shelley whistled.  “Wow, you really do take your story seriously, don’t you?  Where did you even manage to find something like that?”

“I had it tailor-made,” he said with a shrug, searching through the pockets.

“Ohhhh,” she teased good-naturedly.  “Fancy.”

He huffed a laugh, but it died off as his search left him empty-handed.  “It’s not here.”

“What’s not….”

He threw the coat down onto the ground. 

“Whoa!  Take a deep breath, will you?  It probably fell out into the box or something.”

He searched the rest of the box, but his coin purse was nowhere to be found.  “It’s not here!”

“It has to be.  Can you at least tell me what you’re looking for?  Maybe it got into another box by mistake.  I can help you look.”

“No,” he said quickly.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Shelley, per se.  He just felt that the fewer people who knew about the gold, the better.  He glanced over at Shelley, who looked hurt.  “Sorry.  It’s nothing of any real value,” he lied.  “Just a sentimental keepsake that I don’t want left behind.”

“You’re a pretty good liar, but I’ve known a lot of good liars,” Shelley called him out.  “I hate to break it to you, but it’s not unheard of for valuable things to get lost in places like these.” 

“You mean stolen.”

“Yeah.  Do you know who put your things into storage?”

“Not exactly.  Dr. Arden was the last one I saw with them.  He’s the one who said they would be put away, but I don’t recall him saying he was going to do it himself.”

“I don’t have a lot of good things to say about Arden, but to accuse him of being a thief?  I don’t see it.”

p>“I have to be sure.”

“You can check his office.  If he didn’t take whatever it is you’re looking for home with him, that’s where it would be.”

He nodded and put his things back into their box, placing it back onto the shelf.  “I’m going to go check.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’d be more difficult to explain why the both of us were going to his office, if someone saw us, than one of us alone.”

“Good point.  I’ll see you at the movie, then?”

He nodded, and she gave him a hug.  “Be careful.  Today’s not the day to get into trouble.”

“And ruin our perfectly good escape plan?  I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She let him go, and they went their separate ways.  He made his way through the halls, head down.  It was getting late in the evening, and there weren’t many people wandering about.  No one bothered him, and he came across fewer and fewer people as he drew closer to Dr. Arden’s office.

His heart sank as he approached the door.  He could hear voices inside.

“-those tears?” came the mocking voice of Sister Jude.

“Sister Mary Eunice has been corrupted!” Dr. Arden’s raised voice came next.  “It’s this place!  Those patients!  That loathsome Shelley!  She’s a wretched influence.”

“If she’s been corrupted, it’s because of you!  Your leers are quite transparent.  She’s a sensitive child.  Your perversion has awakened something in her that she can’t begin to understand.”

“My feelings for her are nothing if not entirely pure!  She came in here and propositioned me!  Exposed herself to me like a whore!”

“I see through your game.  You’re trying to drive me from my position so that you can take over!  First…”

“Eavesdropping?” Sister Mary Eunice whispered in his ear, making him jump.  “Such a nasty habit.”

“What are you doing here?” he whispered back.

“My ears were burning,” she said with a gleeful little smirk.  “Guilty consciences are so much fun to prey upon.  It’s almost too easy.  Give a little nudge here, a push there, then sit back and watch as they bite at each other like the rats they are.”

“You’re sick.”

“Oh please, spare me your sanctimony.  Neither of them deserves your pity.  Arthur and Judy are burdened with what I believe your world refers to as dark hearts.  As far as I’m concerned, they’re mine already.  I’m well within my rights to play with them however I like.”

“-would be best if you took a leave of absence,” Arden sneered.

There was a pregnant pause in which he could almost see the two of them glaring at each other.

“I’m onto you,” Jude warned. 

“That’s our cue,” Sister Mary Eunice whispered, snagging him by the collar and pulling him away from the door and around the corner, out of sight.  Not a moment later, Sister Jude stalked out the door and down the hall in the opposite direction.  “Well,” she said, once Jude was gone.  “You know why I’m here.  My question is, why are you here?”

“I was feeling out of sorts,” he told her.  That part, at least, wasn’t an outright lie.  He still hadn’t shaken the loopy feeling that had plagued him since the day before.  He wondered if he was coming down with something, but refused to let it slow him down.  “I thought Dr. Arden might have some sort of remedy I might take.”

She motioned invitingly towards the door.  “Don’t let me stop you from asking him.”

“I’m feeling much better,” he claimed.

She smiled.  “Hallelujah, what a miracle.”

“I should probably get to the common room before the movie starts.  I’m curious to see what all the fuss is about.”

“You do that.”

As he turned to leave, she said, “Oh, by the way, I took care of the little problem we were discussing last night.”

He looked back at her as she held up a rosary.  “You’re a collector.  Here.”  She tossed it to him.  He fumbled the catch a bit, but managed not to drop it.  Images flashed in his head.  Sister Mary Eunice framed in a doorway, her expression turning from sickly faux sweetness to screaming rage and back again, as if someone had flipped a switch.  Ana, tears streaming down her face, being forced to kneel and pray.  A flash of silver as scissors were buried deep into her neck.  A splash of crimson as blood pulsed from the wound.  Gods, was that how people saw him back home, a cat taking perverse pleasure in toying with the mouse it had caught, before the inevitable kill? 

“Why did you show me this?” he demanded.

“Show you what?” she asked, watching him with keen interest.  She sounded so sincere, as if she honestly didn’t understand what he was accusing her of, but was curious to find out.  “Don’t you like your gift?  Our dear Señora De La Cruz isn’t using it, anymore, and it seemed a shame to just let it go to waste.  And after all, it is your first trophy in this world.”

“Trophy?”

“Oh yes.  You may not have killed her yourself, but if you had never come here…well…she’d still be alive now, wouldn’t she?”

Disgusted, he shoved the rosary into his pocket and stalked away.

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
 _S'en allait tout simplement,_  
 _Routier, pauvre et chantant_  
 _En tous chemins, en tous lieux,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,_  
 _Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu…_

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Shelley asked, as he took a seat next to her.  Rows of chairs were lined up in front of a large screen.  Most of the seats were unoccupied, as there was still some time before the movie, giving them the pick of where to sit.  Shelley had chosen seats in one of the middle rows, nice and inconspicuous. 

“No, Dr. Arden was still in his office.  I didn’t get the chance to look.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded, and after a few minutes of silence Shelley spoke again.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Really?  You seem upset.”

“Just disappointed.”

“It seems like more than that.”

“It’s not,” he snapped.

She crossed her arms and looked back towards the blank screen.  “Fine.  You don’t need to get snippy.”

He didn’t respond, and they sat in silence as the common room started to fill up. 

“Are you nervous?” he asked, a peace offering after the silence stretched beyond awkward.

“About getting out of here?  No.  I already know what I’m going to do.  As soon as I scrape together enough money for a ticket, I’m off to Paris and I’m never looking back!”

“Paris?”

“Yeah, the French are so much more forward thinking than Americans.  I’m sick and tired of being looked down on.  There, I can be myself without being judged.”  He nodded, and she asked, “How about you?  What are your plans?”

“I don’t know.  I was hoping to purchase a bit of land, build a cottage for me and Bae, maybe buy a sheep or two, try to rebuild the life we once had somewhere quiet and out of the way.  But without the item I was trying to retrieve, I’ll be penniless.  I’ll have to think of something else.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What is, my being penniless and without a plan?  I haven’t had a lot of time to come to terms with being robbed.”

“No, all of it!  Your dream is to raise sheep in the middle of nowhere?  That’s the best you could come up with?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s boring.  You should come with me.”

“To Paris?”

“Yes!  It’s a beautiful city.  And you’ve mentioned how much Bae likes to draw.  There’s no better place to be an artist!  He’ll love it!  And if you aren’t sold on the city life, you could still get yourself a little piece of land.  The French countryside beats any place you’re going to find around here.  You can start a vineyard or something.”

He laughed.  “I’m no winemaker.”

“You could be.  How much harder could growing grapes be than raising sheep?”

He gave her a skeptical look but, before he could respond, a whistle wavered through the air before petering out.  “Take your seats!” Sister Jude yelled.  “Take your seats!”  Rumpelstiltskin looked up, watching as the patients continued to mill about, some finding seats, others looking a bit lost.  “No more dilly-dallying!  Sit down!  Sit down!” 

Everyone eventually found their way to a chair and settled in as Sister Jude spoke briefly with Frank before turning to address them.  “Welcome, one and all, to Briarcliff’s inaugural movie night.”  Sister Jude began as she made her way slowly, and unsteadily, down the center aisle.  “Whether this evening marks the start of a…of a beloved tr-tradition…heh…or just another bitter disappointment…is entirely up to you.” 

“Has she been drinking?” he whispered to Shelley.  She certainly hadn’t seemed intoxicated earlier, but maybe she had needed a drink after her fight with Dr. Arden.  Or maybe the demon in control of Sister Mary Eunice had had a chance to do more of the nudging she had bragged about earlier.

“You have to ask?” Shelley whispered back.  “She’s blitzed!”

By now Sister Jude had made her way to the front of the room and stood in front of the screen.  She took a piece of paper from her pocket, unfolded it carefully, and began to read.  “Now, settle in, relax, and return with me now to ancient Rome, as we present the 1932 Cecil B. DeMille classic The Sign of the Cross, starring Ms. Claudette Colbert as the Empress Poppaea, and as the Emperor Nero, the incomparable Mr. Charles Laughton.”  She looked up from her paper.  “Who, I understand, was an enormous whoopsie.”

As she said that, a particularly loud clap of thunder rattled the windows, setting off a round of shrieks and screams.

“No, none of that!” Sister Jude quelled.  “Come on, none of that!  Chin up!”  She tapped her own chin and repeated, “Chin up high!  Hey!  Don’t be afraid of the dark!  At the end of the storm is a golden sky and the bright silver song of a lark.” 

She began to make her way down the aisle once more, the brightest and most honest smile he had ever seen from her lighting her face.  “Walk on through the wind,” she said, cupping one patient’s face and smiling down at him for a moment, before moving on to do the same to Pepper.  “Walk on through the rain!  Though your dreams may be tossed and blown, walk on!” 

Her smile began to fade as she neared the end of the aisle, her voice taking on a tremulous edge.  “Walk on with hope in your heart, and you’ll never walk alone.  You’ll never walk….”  Here she paused, and when she spoke again, it was only just audible, “She was alone…tiny little fragile thing, out in the world, in the gloaming.  And the storm that came was not rain,” her voice rose angrily.  “And it was not wind!  It was something altogether else.”  She trailed off, covering her mouth in horror.  Before she could continue her uncomfortable monologue, however, a flash of lightning and rolling clap of thunder set off another outburst from the crowd.  The ruckus seemed to snap her out of her dark thoughts and, wiping tears from her eyes, she called out, “Lights!” 

Turning her back on them, she said something to Frank about going to find the Mexican.  Squaring her shoulders, she strode out of the room as the lights were dimmed and a moving picture appeared on the screen.  Her odd behavior was quickly driven from his mind as he gaped at the screen.  It was like magic.  People, large as life, walked and talked upon the screen like players upon a stage.  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how such a thing was accomplished without the screen being bewitched.

“How do they…” he began, but was immediately shushed by the patient to the other side of him.  He leaned in closer to Shelley and pitched his voice lower, trying again.  “Are the people...”

“Shhhhhh!”

He glared at the other patient, before looking back to Shelley, who was dividing her attention between the movie, Kit and Grace, and himself.  She grinned at him and said, “I’ll try to explain it to you later.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“You shhhh!” Shelley shot back, and the other patient frowned and turned his attention back to the screen.  He did the same, and was soon enthralled with the story playing out in front of him; so much so that he missed Kit and Grace making their move until Shelley elbowed him in the ribs to get his attention.  She nodded towards the back of the room, and he glanced behind him to see Grace talking to Frank, distracting him.  Kit slipped out of the room unnoticed as Shelley got up from her seat and did the same.  He followed close behind, sneaking out with no time to spare as Grace ended her brief conversation with Frank and followed after them. 

Some of the tension drained from them all as they walked through the abandoned hallways, putting enough time and distance between themselves and the common room to feel confident that they had yet to be missed by Frank, though they still had to be on the lookout for patrolling orderlies.

Lightning flashed through the windows with increasing regularity.  The storm was well and truly upon them now.  “We picked a hell of a night for it,” Shelley said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Kit agreed.  “It’s good.  Perfect, in fact.  The storm will cover our tracks.  All we gotta do is go through those doors, through the staff lounge, and into the boiler room,” he said, pointing the way.

“And that’ll take us where?” Shelley asked with an impatience that suggested she was not as privy to the plan as she had led him to believe.  “Narnia?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s chest clenched at her words and he broke in hastily, “I can’t go to Narnia!”

Shelley exhaled noisily.  “Not now, Rumpel.”

Grace leveled a look at him that was at once pitying and leery.  “Should we really be bringing him with us?”

“Yes,” Shelley said.  “It’s fine.  It’s not like he’s an axe murderer.”  She gave Grace a pointed look.  Grace narrowed her eyes, but backed down.

“Fine.  In the boiler room, there’s an entrance to an old tunnel that leads into the woods, assuming it’s really there.”

“It’s there,” Lana said, striding up to them.  “I’ll show you, just take me with you.”

Grace was on her in the blink of an eye, grabbing her and slamming her against the wall.  “Screw you,” she spat.  “You had your chance.”

Lana looked plaintively at Kit.  “I was wrong about you.  I’m sorry.  Someone I love may be in danger.  I know you can understand that.”

“We have to take her down,” Grace said, ignoring Lana’s words.  “She’ll raise the alarm.”

Kit didn’t hesitate, pulling Grace off of Lana as he answered, “No.  She’s coming with us.”

Grace frowned.  “What?”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Kit said.  “Come on.”

Approaching the final intersection, expecting them to follow, Kit glanced around the corner.  He jerked his head back quickly and pressed his back against the wall.  “Shit!  Carl’s out there.”

“What are we going to do?” Grace whispered back.

“Whatever we have to do,” Kit said.  “We may not get another chance.  We’re going through that door.”

“We’re not taking down Carl!” Shelley hissed.  “He was a Marine!  He fought in Korea!”  She sighed, looking frustrated and annoyed.  Before any of them could come up with a better plan, she spoke.  “I’ll make sure you get through the door.  Just try to wait for me.” 

“Wait for you?” Grace echoed.

“If you can.”  She looked to Lana and said, “If I can’t make it out, make sure you write the story that blows the door off this place.  Don’t forget about me.”

He grabbed her arm before she could turn the corner.  He had a bad feeling about her going through with her plan.  “You can’t do this.”

“You know I don’t like people telling me what I can and can’t do,” she said, raising her chin, and he frowned.  “Just trust me.  Everything’s going to be fine.  I’ll be right behind you.”

He stared at her a moment.   “You’re a pretty good liar, but I’ve known a lot of good liars,” he said quietly.

She smiled.  “I said trust me.  It’ll take more than Carl to keep me from getting out of here with you guys.”

“Two seconds ago, it was, ‘If I can’t make it out’….”

“That’s a big if.  Worst case scenario.  But if you stand here jabbering any longer, we’re all going to get caught.”  She pulled free of him and turned the corner.  They shrank back as a beam of light swept in their direction, zeroing in on Shelley. 

“Shelley.”  Carl sounded exasperated as he asked, “What are you doing out here?”

“I got bored.”

“Yeah, you’re always bored.  You need to be at that movie with the others.”

“I’ve already seen it.  The Christians get eaten.  I’d rather be eating something else.”

He felt a spark of jealousy at her tone, which was ridiculous.  They were friends.  For all that they had shared a fleeting…escalation of their relationship…he was under no illusions that that made them more than what they were.  Certainly not.  Kit met his gaze and shook his head warningly, which made him feel even more ridiculous for his apparent transparency.

“Shelley, I don’t have time,” Carl said with more than a hint of regret.  “The Mexican’s missing.  Jude’s out here looking, too.”

“You check the hydrotherapy room?” Shelley asked.  “Come on, Carl, I’ll help you look.  You never know where she might be hiding.”

“Jeez, Shelley,” Carl said, laughing, but allowed himself to be led away. 

They waited until the two were out of earshot, before Kit moved on, pushing open the double doors.  “Come on.”

They made it to the boiler room with no further trouble.

“I don’t see a door,” Grace said.

“It’s here,” Lana assured them, pulling a cart away from the wall and revealing the way out.  They hurried through the doorway into the darkened tunnel beyond, closed the door behind them, and proceeded to wait for Shelley.

Time ticked by painfully slow, and far too quickly.  Every minute felt like an hour, bringing them one step closer to their recapture, and yet Shelley hadn’t reappeared. 

“We waited as long as we can,” Kit said finally.  “Something must have happened to her.  Any moment now they’re going to notice we’re missing from that movie, if they haven’t already.”

Rumpelstiltskin was going to protest, they had hardly given Shelley a chance to catch up, when Lana said, “We’ll get her out, her and everybody else.  I’ll expose every sick thing going on here.”

“That’s not good enough,” he said, and they all looked at him.  “She’ll be along shortly, we just need to give her a chance.”

“We have.  We can’t wait any longer.  We need to put as much distance as we can between us and this place, while we can.”

He looked at their faces, full of nervous anticipation and an almost painful hopefulness.  “You’re right,” he sighed.  They had lost precious time waiting, time that was desperately needed for their escape to succeed.  He stared longingly down the tunnel towards the outside world awaited them and then back, his decision made.  “You’ve wasted enough time.”  He looked down at his leg.  “At this point, I’d just slow you down, as well.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Lana asked.

He shook his head.  “I’ll go find Shelley.  There may still be time for us to make it on our own.  It’s smarter to split up, anyway.  There’s less chance they can catch all of us, then.”

They exchanged glances amongst themselves, and seemed to reach an agreement.  Grace nodded, “Let’s go.”

“Good luck,” Kit said, shaking his hand. 

“You, too,” he said. 

Lana gave him a quick hug, and then they were on their way, disappearing out of sight down the tunnel to freedom.

He turned back, determined to find Shelley.

His first stop was the hydrotherapy room.  He peered cautiously inside.  Lying on the ground, unconscious, was Carl.  He smiled slightly.  He wasn’t sure how she had managed to get the drop on him, but she clearly had.  His smile quickly faded as he wondered what had happened next.  If she had gotten away from Carl, why hadn’t he passed her in the hall?  Where had she gone, if not to the tunnel?

It occurred to him that he had no idea where to look next.  Perhaps she felt too much time had passed and went back to the movie, assuming they wouldn’t have waited that long for her.  Or perhaps she had been injured in the tussle with Carl, and had gone to the infirmary.  He wasn’t ready to give up, quite yet, so returning to the movie was out of the question.  That left the infirmary.  Perhaps he could stop by Dr. Arden’s office on the way and see if he could find his gold.  Perhaps this wasn’t a setback, after all.

As he approached Dr. Arden’s office, however, he heard muffled voices through the closed door.  He huffed, annoyed.  Didn’t that man have a home to go to?  His annoyance quickly faded to concern when he heard whose voice it was. 

“-infirmary.  I think I’m gonna vomit,” Shelley said.

“That’s fine.” Arden’s unconcerned reply was accompanied by the soft click of the door being locked.  “Go ahead.  We can play doctor right here.”

“No, I’m not in the mood.”

Arden scoffed at that.  “You’re always in the mood.  I must be the only guy in here who hasn’t had you, yet.”

“That’s not true.  What’s more, I’m the one who does the choosing,” Shelley argued, trying to hide the nervousness in her voice behind the more confident tone he was used to hearing from her.  She wasn’t very successful.

“Not tonight.”  Arden’s voice was cold as he ordered her to turn around.

“I thought I repulsed you.”

“Any port in the storm.  Now bend over!”

He stood frozen, listening to the scene play out behind the closed door.  Gods, it was like being on that pirate ship all over again, being confronted with that same damnable choice.  Should he try to help Shelley, or should he make a break for it in the hopes of reuniting with his son?

He should go.  He clenched his fists at his side, hating himself for the thought, but it was the right choice, wasn’t it?  His son needed him.  Shelley, well, she could take care of herself.  She had certainly said so enough.  And it wasn’t the same with her as it had been with Milah.  They weren’t married.  She wasn’t his responsibility.  Except she was, wasn’t she?  She had befriended him, helped him to not go mad and lose hope in this place.  Didn’t he owe it to her to be there for her now?

“I don’t want to,” Shelley told Arden tremulously.  “I wanna go back to the movie.”

It was this that shook him from his inaction, her voice as she refused Arden outright.  She sounded so scared and small in that moment, so very unlike herself.  He couldn’t make the same mistake he had made with Milah.  He had to at least try to be a better man.  Bae deserved a good man for a father, and he couldn’t claim to be that if he walked away now. 

He tried the door handle, only to have it confirm what he already knew.  The door was locked.

He didn’t have time to consider whether he should knock or try to force open the door before Shelley shrieked.  Arden was not the type to take no for an answer.  “No, no, no!  Help!  Rape!”

“Rape?” Arden sneered.  “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Rumpelstiltskin snarled as Shelley cried out for help again and gripped the doorknob tighter.  He felt a jolt as he did so, like static electricity fizzling down his arm, and heard the click of the lock sliding open.  He threw the door open as Arden mocked Shelley with a snide, “Go ahead, scream your head off.  No one’s going to hear you in here.”

Arden knelt on the couch behind Shelley, holding her bent over the arm.  The back of the couch blocked his view of how far things had or hadn’t progressed, which he was grateful for. 

They startled at his entrance.  Arden looked furious at the intrusion, while Shelley’s face crumpled in relief. 

“Shelley!  I…I thought you were going to the infirmary,” he said, the words tripping over themselves slightly as he spoke.  He could feel himself flush. A dashing, heroic rescue this was not. He was no knight in shining armor, despite what Spivey had accused him of being.

“Yes,” Shelley said in a grateful rush, trying to squirm away from Arden.  “Will you walk me there?”

At the same time, Arden shouted at him, “How did you get in here?  Leave now!”

Ignoring Arden, he held his hand out to Shelley in invitation, and she twisted out of Arden’s grasp.  Standing from the couch, her gaze flicked down momentarily, and a hysterical laugh burst out of her.  She covered her mouth to try and stifle the nervous giggle, but it was too late.

Arden gritted his teeth as he fumbled with his trousers.  “Don’t you dare laugh at me!”

“What happened?” Shelley babbled, as Rumpelstiltskin frantically shook his head at her.  He’d seen people react like this under stress.  He’d made deals with some of them.  It had amused him, watching people fall apart as they signed something precious away to him, listening to them say the most inappropriate things and watching the horror well up in their eyes as they realized what they were saying but couldn’t stop themselves.  He found nothing funny about it now, as Shelley went on.  “Did you have an accident?  You’re seven feet tall!  I thought you’d be hung like a….”

Arden lunged.  Grabbing a heavy bronze paperweight from his desk, he swung at Shelley, and she crumpled to the ground unconscious.  At least, Rumpelstiltskin hoped she was just unconscious.  Arden stared down at Shelley for a moment, before turning his attention to him.  A slow smile spread across his features, a dark smile that did not come close to reaching pitiless eyes.  “You should have left while you had the chance.”

He took a step back, raising a hand to ward him off, as Arden took several long strides towards him, reaching around him to slam the door shut and keeping his arm braced against it.  “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere.”


End file.
